Come Back home → for EVERYONE
Title: Come Back Home
Recipient: EVERYONE
Pairing(s): Xiumin/Kris; platonic!Xiumin/Everyone; hinted!Suho/Chen, Tao/Sehun, Kai/D.O; platonic!chinaline bonding
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: involves the kris scandal and some pretty heavy speculation regarding that, so some things may be factually incorrect. also, angry minseok.
Word count: 5,779
Summary: Once upon a time, they were one.
“This is fucking terrible.”
Luhan’s eyebrows are drawn together in an angry V, his normally mirthful eyes clouded with darkness.
“We,” (he kicks the sofa) “are going to leave in ten minutes,” (he crosses his arms) “to go to the damn airport to go back to Korea,” (he takes off his snapback, ruffles his hair, and shoves it back on his head in an ungainly manner) “and no one knows where the fuck Yifan is.”
“Calm down,” Yixing says, followed by a soft string of placating-sounding Mandarin that Minseok’s not entirely sure he understands. Luhan’s brows relax somewhat, but his arms remain firmly crossed across his chest. He’s always had a tendency to overreact.
Minseok sighs. “He’ll turn up,” he says half-heartedly, “he has to, right?”
He has to show up, or else we’re all done for.
Zitao, sitting on one of the kitchen chairs, pulls on the arms of his worry-panda plush, chin buried in its head and looking very much the mental five-year-old he is.
“Da-ge,” he whimpers, shoving his face into the panda, “where’s Fan-ge?”
Minseok tries very hard not to ruffle Zitao’s hair (he tries to reconcile himself with the fact that Zitao looks like a kindergartener, and such urges are perfectly normal, despite the fact that Zitao is around ten centimeters taller) and bites his lip.
“I don’t know,” he finally says. “None of us know. He probably went out to go do something important. But he’ll be back.”
His argument is pretty weak; all of Yifan’s luggage is gone, with nary a note of explanation.
Yifan can’t possibly be gone though, can he?
Minseok’s blood runs cold just at the thought, sparking a frenzy of scenarios each more dire and gruesome than the last-Yifan going out to buy snacks and getting lost (improbable; he’s pretty familiar with the streets of Beijing), Yifan getting kidnapped in the middle of the night (also improbable; they have a security system on the front door and nothing looks broken into), Yifan finally deciding that he’s had enough of them and the group and-
No.
He’s really not thinking about this.
Their manager’s voice is low and muffled through one of the rooms he’d locked himself into since the whole debacle began, but his voice has been steadily rising in volume and anger level with each minute he spends talking to whoever it is on the other line, and each rise in decibel makes Minseok’s level of hope fall lower and lower.
Suddenly, there is silence, and an eternity seems to pass, the hands on the clock ticking ominously loud, before the door opens and their manager walks out.
“We’re leaving. Get in the van.”
“But what about Fan-ge?” Zitao asks, but his question remains unanswered as the manager all but shoves them out the door.
“We have a flight to catch.”
Zitao lingers by the doorway, teeth worrying on his lower lip, and Jongdae places a hand on the small of his back.
“Come on, Zitao. Yifan’ll show up. Don’t worry.”
Zitao is not placated much, but shuffles along, Jongdae at his side, and Minseok can see his arms tightening around his panda plush.
For Zitao’s sake (and his, too), he hopes they find Yifan soon.
*
The plane is about to take off, and Yifan is nowhere to be found.
Luhan, antsy as enough as it is from his acrophobia, is practically jumping out of his seat, only kept down by his seatbelt and Minseok and Yixing together holding him down. Zitao grips his panda even tighter to his chest while Jongdae tries to calm him, although they don’t really seem to be getting anywhere. Their manager is glued to his phone, muttering rapidly and angrily in the aisle seat, waving off the flight attendant when she tries to tell him to shut off his phone.
“Hyung,” Jongdae asks their manager, “did you manage to get ahold of Yifan-hyung?”
Their manager purses his lips. “I think we should wait until we get back to Korea for this conversation.”
“Why?”
“It’s… complicated. Very complicated.”
Zitao opens his mouth to ask a question, but the flight attendants have begun their safety spiel that they’ve all heard a thousand times, and soon enough Luhan’s crushing all the bones in Minseok’s hand while Minseok’s stomach lurches and the plane takes off.
His phone feels heavy in his pocket; even though he can’t use it to contact Yifan at thirty-five thousand feet in the air, he can’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, Yifan had sent him a message.
On the other side of Luhan, Yixing pulls a face, making eye contact with Minseok and flicking his eyes downward towards his hand, where his fingers are also having the life squeezed out of them.
Bless Yixing’s soul for trying to make things a little lighter, even though Minseok figures that, other than Zitao, Yixing’s the most hurt of all-it’s no secret that the two had a weird sort of bond going on.
“Tell me when we’ve landed,” Luhan mutters. They’ve made this flight hundreds, maybe thousands of times by now, but Luhan still thinks the world is going to end each time they make it. Minseok wonders if he can sue for medical damages, with all the joint problems he’ll probably have in the future.
“Do you know what’s wrong with duizhang?” Yixing whispers, and Minseok’s heart skips a beat at the word.
Duizhang. Leader. Is Yifan still their leader, even if he isn’t here?
“I don’t know,” he says, and he gets the feeling he’s going to have to get used to saying that a lot, “but I probably should.”
He should, because even though Yifan led the group, everyone leans on Minseok, whether they like or not. He's the one who holds the maknaes when they cry at night; he’s the one who keeps Kyungsoo from murdering the rest of the 92-line; he’s the one who pats Joonmyun on the head and reassures him that he’s doing a good job; he’s the one who cleans the kitchen with Yixing in the middle of the night when they get too hungry to worry about their diets; he’s the one who keeps Luhan from terrorizing everyone else when he’s bored.
He’s the one who spent hours sitting alone in Yifan’s room when he’d locked everyone else out; he’s the one who keeps Yifan intact when the leader feels like he’s breaking apart at the seams; he’s the one who kissed Yifan before they went to bed late last night and said see you in the morning.
Only morning came and went and now it’s afternoon and they’re all wearing sunglasses so none of the fans can photograph their bloodshot eyes as they wade their way through the airport mass, trying to ignore the calls of where’s Kris? while cracking weak smiles and waving here and there.
Another manager’s pulled their van to a side entrance, and they all wave one last time to the fans before they crawl inside, hearts heavy.
Minseok’s about to ask what’s wrong with the Yifan situation, but the managers have already started muttering to each other in their manager-y way that discourages any and all future questions until they get back to the dorm.
He settles for pulling his phone out of his pocket and turning the connection back on, waiting for everything to reload and waiting, painfully, for that little yellow Kakao square in the top left corner to pop up.
It doesn’t.
The ride back to the dorm is tense; Luhan and Jongdae lay off their usual antics, Yixing stares blankly out the window, and Zitao stares blankly at his phone.
Minseok presses the unlock button on his phone on and off the whole ride, wondering why Yifan isn’t sending him anything. Dumbly, he realizes that he hasn’t even tried sending a message first, and opens up the app
you ok? he finally settles on, sending the message before his nerves force him to delete and retype it for the umpteenth time. He sighs, phone dropping into his lap as he leans back in his seat.
All too soon, they’re pulling into the parking lot of the apartment complex and one of the managers prods Minseok in the arm, startling him and prompting him to crawl out of the car.
They walk, single file, through the halls and to their dorm. Jongdae punches in the code and the door swings open soundlessly, followed by a pop of confetti.
“Surprise!” Chanyeol and Baekhyun shout. “Welcome back, M friends! Ready for more hell and concert prep?”
They are met with silence, and Chanyeol's manic grin slowly fades from his face.
“Hey… where’s Yifan-hyung?”
“About that,” their manager says, clearing his throat, “I think it’s best that we all sit down and talk.”
*
“What do you mean he’s left?”
“Calm down, Baekhyun-ah,” their manager sighs. “He vanished from the Beijing dorm and refused to come back. He’s… he’s filing a lawsuit to leave.”
“This is like Super Junior all over again,” Luhan mutters, leaning into Yixing, who just strokes his hair.
“What about the concert?” Joonmyun asks, the most outwardly distraught of all of them. “It’s in ten days, for fuck’s sake! He knows this. He knows. How could he betray us like this?”
Zitao sniffles from beside him, seconding the thought.
It was no secret that Yifan had never been particularly happy with SM, nor with being in EXO, what with his continual vanishing acts, sometimes for weeks and months on end. They’d all figured, though, that Yifan would stick out the eight years in the contract with the rest of them and then use the fame to push himself off on a successful acting career.
None of them had expected that he’d shove them all down into a black hole to reach for his own star.
Kyungsoo stands abruptly and stalks off into his room, Jongin springing to his feet shortly after to make sure that the vocalist didn’t break anything. One by one, the members file off on their own, muttering that they needed some air or expressing desires to go work off the sudden stress, until it’s just Minseok and the managers left sitting around the dinner table.
“Minseok-ah,” one sighs, “I know you had something… special with Yifan.” He treads lightly, not wanting to push any boundaries, but it’s an open secret in the group. “Do you know…?”
“He hasn’t said anything to me.” Minseok’s voice comes out sharper than he means it to, but the manager says nothing about his tone.
Another sigh. “I thought so. In any case… we need to settle on a new leader. What about Yixing…?” He turns to the other manager, intent on starting another conversation, which would be Minseok’s cue to leave.
But…
“I’ll do it.”
“Hm?”
“I… I’ll lead in Yifan’s absence.”
Minseok doesn’t know where the declaration comes from-he’s not much of an outward leader, choosing to work by convincing and smooth talking rather than ruling with an iron fist. He knows that Yixing would be a better fit-after all, Yixing was originally supposed to lead EXO-M, and it would make more sense, given their Chinese promotions, but it’s a running gag that he can’t remember anything, so what good would he really do as a leader?
“I’ll do it,” he repeats, his voice coming out surer, more firm. “I can do it.”
The manager, to his surprise, gives him an approving nod. “We’ll give you guys the rest of the day off to process this… but starting tomorrow, be ready, Minseok-ah. Alright?”
He bows in acknowledgement and walks off to his room in a daze, falling over on his wolf bedspread as the sudden adrenaline rush leaves his body.
He pulls his phone out of his pocket numbly, opening up the chat shortcut he had for Yifan on his homescreen.
The little 1 next to his earlier message is gone, but there’s not reply.
That bastard.
Minseok opens up the keyboard, fully intending on tying out a long message, but he can’t bring himself to do it.
Instead, he closes his eyes, praying that sleep will overcome him soon so he can try and forget the chaos of what should have been a day full of concert rehearsal and dumb antics.
(It doesn’t come quickly, nor is it particularly peaceful, but it’s the first time in eons that he’s slept for more than nine hours in a row.)
*
He wakes up the next morning feeling, to put it mildly, like shit.
Luhan’s shaking him awake, an impish smile on his face, hair damp, towel slung around his neck.
“I hope you don’t mind, duizhang, but I showered first since you were still sleeping. Hurry up and claim your da ge spot before Joonmyun tries to snag it!”
Luhan’s tone is teasing, and he pats Minseok on the cheek for good measure before scampering out to eat before they head to practice.
Groggily, Minseok rolls out of bed, not the first to wake up for the first time ever. He barely remembers to grab a pair of shorts and clean underwear to change into after his shower (after the great Sehun incident of ’13, no one ever dared to forget their post-shower clothes again).
“Get out,” he teases Joonmyun, who’s lurking around the bathroom door. “Or go use the other one.”
“Sehun jumped in, and so did Zitao.”
Ah.
Well, that explained everything.
“Guard the door well, Suho,” he replies, wondering briefly where he managed to get all the snark so early in the morning.
The bathroom is still slightly steamy from Luhan’s shower, and Minseok wastes no time stepping in and turning on the hot water, groaning audibly as the grime from the past day is washed off his body.
Too soon, he’s finished washing his hair and body, and since he sees no reason to prolong Joonmyun’s suffering, he shuts off the water and pats himself dry, pulling on his underwear and shorts. He drapes the towel on top of his head and shuffles out of the bathroom, barely even registering that Jongdae’s somehow managed to drag Joonmyun in and slam the door not five seconds after he’s left.
Shrugging, he towels off his hair and walks to the kitchen, sitting down next to Luhan and grabbing an apple.
“Hey, no naked in the kitchen!” Zitao whines from the other side (again, after the great Sehun incident of ’13, nakedness was banned in the kitchen).
“I’m wearing shorts.” Minseok rolls his eyes, taking a bite out of the fruit. It’s slightly under-ripe, and he frowns, but it’s still edible.
“Ooh, look at half-fifty-hyung,” Sehun teases, stealing a bit of meat from Zitao’s plate.
“So sexy,” Luhan chimes in, taking the opportunity to run cold fingers along Minseok’s side. “Look at you, Uminnie!”
Over the course of the next half-hour, all the members rotate in and out of the kitchen, grabbing food as they deemed fit and fooling around in the common area until they were all ready.
No one mentions the 186-centimeter-tall blond Chinese elephant in the room, and Minseok doesn’t know if that’s for the better or for the worse.
“Come on guys,” Joonmyun says after the eleven crazy beasts have been fed, “let’s go. We really need to crack down now.”
His declaration is not met without grumbling, but eventually, they all make their way into the two vans; M in the first and K in the second (after a brief scuffle, Sehun ends up in M’s van, wedged in the back firmly next to Zitao).
Minseok has his earbuds in like he always does, preparing to slide into the seat on the left behind the driver’s, but the manager shakes his head and motions for him to sit shotgun.
“You’re leader now,” he reminds Minseok as he adjusts the passenger seat to better fit his (not short, not short, not short) body. “We’re gonna go over some stuff.”
Minseok hums noncommittally, rolling the cord up around his phone and sticking it into his pocket. “Okay.”
“Just teasing, there isn’t much today, since it’s just concert stuff. Later on, though, be ready. No more Jay Chou rides.”
When they arrive at the SM building, they’re nearly mobbed again, and Minseok’s heart beats just a little too painfully when he sees the higher number of Kris placards and banners than usual.
They run into the building as per usual, trying their best to grab ahold of the gifts and letters that the fans push at them before they get lost in the mob, finally dashing through the glass doors and letting out a collective sigh of relief when they’re all present and accounted for.
“We’re all here?” Joonmyun asks, standing on his toes to survey them all. Minseok nods, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“Let’s go.”
They head for the largest practice room, bowing to the staff members they see on the way, and Minseok thinks it’s kind of funny, the way there’s just this giant wave of eleven heads ducking down every few feet.
“You guys have got a lot of work to do,” the trainer says the minute they step inside. “We have to rework everything. You’d think it’d be easy, but it’s not.”
Joonmyun sticks his hand out, raising an eyebrow at the rest to follow suit. Minseok almost climbs on Chanyeol in order to stick his hand on the very top, and Joonmyun counts down.
“Three… two… one… We are one! EXO, let’s love!”
*
The next ten days are grueling.
Reforming, redistributing, resynchronizing, refilming…
Everything needs to be redone, and even Minseok finds it difficult not to hate Yifan more than a little bit for this.
Somehow, though, it feels more like they’re just covering up for a temporary leave, like they would for any of the other members if they were injured or ill.
It’s not until the day of the first concert date when they drive past the concert venue, past the rows and rows of fans, and Yifan’s banner is absent along the other eleven, that Minseok truly feels that Yifan is gone, really and truly gone.
His phone, while constantly busy with messages from the managers and members and the occasional sasaeng, is resolutely silent from the one person he wants to hear from the most.
it’s the first day of the lost planet today, he types. wish you were here.
He’s about to turn off the screen and put his phone back into his pocket when a notification pops up.
good luck.
Minseok’s not sure if he’s relieved or just more nervous.
*
The first night is the worst, but it never really gets better after that, if Minseok’s truly honest with himself.
Yifan’s dance and rap sections are easy enough for another member to take over, but it’s the little interactions that are just so empty.
When Chanyeol flings his open water bottle over the crowd, Minseok can picture Yifan just behind, dumping a bottle of water down the happy virus’ shirt and running away.
When Yixing is doing his thing where he bows to everyone in the crowd a million times, Minseok can see Yifan standing beside him, hands linked, ever humble.
When Zitao’s out with a foot injury, he can imagine Yifan pushing his wheelchair across the stage during rehearsals, screaming nonsense and generally being a fool, doing anything he can to distract his favorite didi from the pain.
When Luhan’s manhandling him every other minute like he always does, he can feel the ghost of Yifan’s hands on his shoulders, a teasing glint in his eyes as he claims what’s his.
When the fans are screaming their names during the fanchants, and Yifan isn’t in them, he fills it in himself.
He’s there, but he’s not, and Minseok wonders if Yifan’s ever even bothered to come see any of the concerts, or even looked at the fancams.
He wonders if Yifan even keeps up with them at all anymore, if he saw their appearance on Happy Camp without him, saw the compilation video at the end that had brought nearly everyone to tears.
(He hopes, at least, that Yifan sees the videos that the fans have titled XIUMIN SEXY DANCING?!>!>!121!!!:!@:>@! and feels distress that he can’t get any of that.)
*
As the days tick by and Overdose promotions come to a close, Minseok finds himself with more and more free time.
Nearly all of the other members have solo schedules; Chanyeol on Roommate, Kyungsoo and Luhan on their filming, Zitao on Law of the Jungle, Baekhyun and his musical, Jongdae with his soundtrack, Yixing with his Chinese hosting stints, Joonmyun hosting on Inkigayo-hell, even Jongin and Sehun got a pair interview.
Everyone except Minseok, who spends most of his days alternately drinking coffee, kicking a soccer ball against the wall, organizing his shoe collection for the umpteenth time, stalking all of Yifan’s social media accounts and articles, and checking his phone aimlessly.
He sighs. Despite being the “trendiest” member of EXO, he’s the only one with fuck all to do, and it’s driving him insane.
On the upside (or maybe the downside), it’s given him a lot of time to think about Yifan.
(Yifan, who he thought he loved.
Yifan, who, if he’s going to be completely honest with himself, he still loves.)
On the rare days that all eleven of them are actually in the dorm at the same time, they end up studiously avoiding each other. Tensions run high among everyone-Baekhyun’s on lockdown after news got out that he was dating Taeyeon and Chanyeol’s been a bit on edge ever since.
“Hyung,” he says, startling Minseok, who’d been reading an article about Yifan’s new movie, “you still look at this stuff?”
One look from Minseok told him everything he needed to know.
“He, um, looks good, hyung,” Chanyeol stammers, backing away and heading for his room.
And it’s true-Yifan does look good. He’s wearing a suit, and he’s lost a bit of that perpetually brooding look he’d always had in his EXO pictures. Now, he looks like some odd combination of high school Yifan and Kris, and Minseok’s not sure how he feels about it.
(Yifan’s handsome, he always is, but his eyes look so bright and Minseok wonders if Yifan even cares about him at all.)
On a whim one afternoon, he’s browsing some travel websites, bookmarking some pages for places he wants to visit but probably won’t get to for another twenty years.
Suddenly, his phone pings.
are you busy?
Minseok frowns-Yifan’s been gone for months, they haven’t exchanged messages since the first concert date, and he’s never started the conversation before.
no
check your email. please. the last favor i’ll ever ask of you.
Well. That certainly sounded shady.
Minseok pulls up his email, where he’s just gotten a forwarded email for a round-trip plane ticket to Guangzhou that takes off in two hours, along with an address.
It’s not the first time Yifan’s had an absolutely stupid last-minute idea, but Minseok’s not about to ask any questions.
He prints out the boarding pass and grabs his passport and wallet, shoving them into his pockets. He doesn’t pack a bag-he’s not planning on staying overnight.
He pulls on a jacket, checking to make sure that his earbuds are still inside the pocket where he’d left them a few days ago.
Almost as an afterthought, he scribbles a note and sticks it on the fridge. It’s almost laughable, really: gone to china, should be back before midnight, as if he’s taking a trip to the corner store.
But he pays it no heed. He has a plane to catch.
He slips on a pair of shoes and grabs someone’s face mask hanging on a hook (it’s a plain black one that’s a little too big, but it’ll have to do.)
Minseok slips out through a side door and calls for a taxi, staring out the window the entire ride to the airport.
He pays the fare and gets out, hunching in on himself to avoid being seen, but he needn’t have bothered. No one’s expecting him, after all.
He gets through security quickly since he has no luggage with him, and before he knows it he’s sitting in a window seat near the back of the plane (Yifan’s frugal senses have remained with him even though he’s got money to burn, but Minseok finds he honestly doesn’t care), fingers drumming on the armrest as he stares at the clouds beneath. They’re white, puffy, fragmented, almost like sheets of ice in the ocean of the sky. The glass is cold when Minseok presses his fingers to it, and he makes a soft whoosh, smiling softly at the memories of the days when they were supposed to have some sort of stupid powers.
Sighing, he leans back on his seat, bringing up the note app on his phone, and he begins to type.
Yifan, I don’t know what to say when it comes to you. I miss you. We all miss you. When are you going to come home? Every day we…
*
The plane lands almost four hours later, and Minseok makes his way out quickly-it’s possible that word’s gotten out about his sudden disappearance, and he doesn’t want to risk anything.
He speed-walks out the gate and to the exit, where he hails a taxi and doesn’t even attempt to speak in Mandarin to the driver, instead holding up the address. He’ll probably get charged extra, seeming as he looks like an easy-to-con tourist, but he doesn’t even care.
All he cares about is that soon, he’ll see Yifan.
The taxi pulls up in front of a modest-looking apartment building, and Minseok tosses several Chinese bills at him, not checking to count the amount properly.
His heart pounds with every step he takes as he walks through the halls, wondering how he’ll react.
Finally, his feet land in front of Yifan’s door. He knocks twice, then steps back.
The door opens, revealing none other than one Wu Yifan.
He’s a little chubbier than Yifan remembers, and it’s ironic, because for once Minseok’s the skinny one. His hair is dark, close-cropped on the sides, and his skin is a bit tanner, his jaw unshaven.
This is Yifan, but this is not his Yifan.
This is the Yifan who left him behind.
“Come back,” he says, his voice breaking and he thought he could handle this, he really did, but the little speech he’d written has all gone to shit now and it’s all he can do to keep from dropping to his knees right then and there.
“I can’t.”
“The hell you can’t, Yifan. The hell you can’t.”
“I can’t, Minseok, I just can’t.” Yifan sounds so, so weary, like all he wants to do is curl up in bed and fall asleep for a million years.
But Minseok can’t even feel any pity for him, because the rest of them all feel the same way.
“Why, then. Explain to me, because I got nothing. We all got nothing. All fucking eleven of us, Yifan. Did you forget you’re supposed to be the leader? Did you forget that you left five of us behind back in China when you left that day, and another six in Korea? Did you know that Zitao’s cried his eyes out every night waiting for you to come back and I held him and told him it was going to be okay, when I didn’t even know what the hell was going on? Did you realize that Joonmyun’s gone insane since you left? Did you even stop once to think about what you were doing?”
Minseok’s chest heaves, and he gasps, eyes narrowed as he glares. Yifan wants to say something, he can tell, but he plows on.
“Did you think about me at all? You lied to me that night, remember? Is that how you want this to end? On a half-assed lie? You could have told me, you bastard. I thought that was how relationships worked. I thought we were supposed to trust each other.”
“M-Minseok-ah, I’m sorry-”
Minseok laughs, and the sound is wild, foreign, crazy, even to his own ears, and he can feel tears burning in his eyes as he wipes at them with the back of his hand.
“Now you’re sorry? You’re a little too late for that, Yifan. Why did you even want me to come, if you don’t even have anything to say to me?”
Minseok sighs, breathing in deeply and letting it out slowly, trying to calm his pounding heart. Yifan takes his silence as an opportunity to speak.
“I know I’m late. Don’t you think I’ve been hurting too? It’s why I needed you, Minseok. It’s why I needed to see you, because it hurts so bad and I don’t know what to do anymore.”
The syllables sound oddly slurred and stilted; Minseok figures he’s not used to speaking Korean after being surrounded by his native language. He’d spent five years learning the damned language and he’d never need to use it again.
Either that, or he’s slightly drunk.
(It’s probably both).
“I needed out, Minseok. I never wanted to be an idol in the first place. I wanted to act, remember? I went along with this because I wanted to debut, I just wanted something to show for my years in SM. I never asked to have my privacy violated, I never asked to have my face plastered around everywhere, I never asked to be worked to the bone with nothing in return.”
“You think any of us wanted that?” Minseok asks. “We’ve all been through the same things, Yifan. Stop acting like you suffered alone.”
“Don’t act like you understand!” Yifan snaps, and something in his eyes hardens. “Don’t act like you understand leaving your home for five years, lonely like nothing else, and then everyone thinks it’s a game to treat you like you’re their plaything. Don’t act like you know what it’s like to be me, because you fucking don’t, Minseok. You don’t, and you never will.”
“Stop trying to make yourself out to be some sort of martyr!” Minseok shouts, and Yifan winces, shrinking back into himself. Minseok rarely ever shouted, and his anger was starting to scare even himself. “Stop it. You think I had it easy? At least you were popular. You know what I had? I had people telling me I was fat, I was ugly, I was leeching off of Luhan’s popularity and all I had to show for it was a minute of lines in our entire album. All I wanted was to sing. Then all I wanted was to die. And now?”
He pauses, walking up, closer to Yifan, close enough that he can feel the soft puffs of Yifan’s breath on his forehead and he can count the hairs on his unshaved upper lip.
“And now?” he repeats, softer, finally letting the angry tears go. “Now, I don’t even know what I want. I don’t even know if I still want you, after all you put me through. Every time I see a picture of your face I’m torn between wanted to smash my lips against yours and wanting to smash your face into the floor.”
Yifan reaches, tentative, long fingers ghosting along Minseok’s jawline, the pad of his thumb sweeping gently underneath his eye. Minseok closes his eyes, his body tight with tension as Yifan’s palm slides back behind his head.
“I missed you,” Yifan murmurs, “I missed you every day. But I knew that if I came back, if I came back to you, I would have wanted to stay. And I can’t, Minseok. I can’t stay.”
Yifan pulls Minseok towards him, and he trips over his feet, chin banging on Yifan’s shoulder as his arms tighten around his back.
Minseok’s eyes fly open, and he breathes in the scent of Yifan’s fancy shampoo and the faint trace of the cologne he’d given him as a birthday present last year, and his arms come up too, wrapping around Yifan’s torso.
“Will you wait for me?” Yifan asks, his voice so impossibly faint that Minseok almost imagines he’d heard it. “Will you wait for me, until I’m not Kris and you’re not Xiumin and we’re just two idiots living together in love? Will you wait for me, until I can take us both away and we can just be happy together?”
His voice is hopeful, so hopeful, but Minseok swallows hard, Yifan’s shoulder pressing in more firmly as he does, so tight it feels like he can’t breathe.
“I can’t, Yifan,” he says, echoing the man’s own words back. “I can’t. You know that, Yifan. I love you, but I can’t wait for you forever.”
“Somehow,” Yifan breathes, “I already knew.”
Yifan’s arms loosen around him, and Minseok follows suit, stepping back enough so that he could look at Yifan's face without having to tilt his head too far up.
“This… this isn’t how I wanted this to go,” Minseok sighs, an empty space in his chest where his heart should be. “I was supposed to tell you to come back, and you were supposed to say yes and we were supposed to be fools and happy and pretend that nothing changed.”
“I still love you,” Yifan says, dumbly, as if that changed anything at all.
(It doesn’t, but Minseok appreciates the sentiment anyways.)
Despite everything, Minseok cracks a smile, shaking his head. “You’re an idiot.”
“I know.”
Minseok strides forward, grabbing Yifan’s collar and presses their lips together.
It’s messy, it’s angry, it’s passionate, and they’re both out of breath by the time Minseok finally breaks it off, setting himself back down on his heels and pushing Yifan back upright.
“The leader position is still yours, if you ever want it back. I’ve been keeping it warm… but no one can herd the kids around like you, duizhang.”
And Minseok turns his back on Yifan, walking back down the hallway like nothing had ever happened.
There’s a part of him that still hopes Yifan will follow him, like one of those stupid dramas that Zitao likes to watch, and he’ll grab Minseok’s wrist and push him up against a wall and tell him not to leave, that they can be together.
His footsteps fall muffled on the carpeted hallway floor, tears burning at the corners of his eyes.
He wipes them away on the sleeve of his shirt, squares his shoulders, and continues on.
He doesn’t look back.
Author’s note: I hope this is what you wanted ;; tbh I haven't been following exo as much lately so i hope it's not all wrong OTL. idk if it's any good though, I wanted it to be longer but I'm so bad at longfic. the middle-end is really messy too and there's not a whole much of xiumin being leader dslkfhasdljkh OTL maybe after this is all over I'll redo it. but I hope you like it ;;
Recipient: EVERYONE
Pairing(s): Xiumin/Kris; platonic!Xiumin/Everyone; hinted!Suho/Chen, Tao/Sehun, Kai/D.O; platonic!chinaline bonding
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: involves the kris scandal and some pretty heavy speculation regarding that, so some things may be factually incorrect. also, angry minseok.
Word count: 5,779
Summary: Once upon a time, they were one.
“This is fucking terrible.”
Luhan’s eyebrows are drawn together in an angry V, his normally mirthful eyes clouded with darkness.
“We,” (he kicks the sofa) “are going to leave in ten minutes,” (he crosses his arms) “to go to the damn airport to go back to Korea,” (he takes off his snapback, ruffles his hair, and shoves it back on his head in an ungainly manner) “and no one knows where the fuck Yifan is.”
“Calm down,” Yixing says, followed by a soft string of placating-sounding Mandarin that Minseok’s not entirely sure he understands. Luhan’s brows relax somewhat, but his arms remain firmly crossed across his chest. He’s always had a tendency to overreact.
Minseok sighs. “He’ll turn up,” he says half-heartedly, “he has to, right?”
He has to show up, or else we’re all done for.
Zitao, sitting on one of the kitchen chairs, pulls on the arms of his worry-panda plush, chin buried in its head and looking very much the mental five-year-old he is.
“Da-ge,” he whimpers, shoving his face into the panda, “where’s Fan-ge?”
Minseok tries very hard not to ruffle Zitao’s hair (he tries to reconcile himself with the fact that Zitao looks like a kindergartener, and such urges are perfectly normal, despite the fact that Zitao is around ten centimeters taller) and bites his lip.
“I don’t know,” he finally says. “None of us know. He probably went out to go do something important. But he’ll be back.”
His argument is pretty weak; all of Yifan’s luggage is gone, with nary a note of explanation.
Yifan can’t possibly be gone though, can he?
Minseok’s blood runs cold just at the thought, sparking a frenzy of scenarios each more dire and gruesome than the last-Yifan going out to buy snacks and getting lost (improbable; he’s pretty familiar with the streets of Beijing), Yifan getting kidnapped in the middle of the night (also improbable; they have a security system on the front door and nothing looks broken into), Yifan finally deciding that he’s had enough of them and the group and-
No.
He’s really not thinking about this.
Their manager’s voice is low and muffled through one of the rooms he’d locked himself into since the whole debacle began, but his voice has been steadily rising in volume and anger level with each minute he spends talking to whoever it is on the other line, and each rise in decibel makes Minseok’s level of hope fall lower and lower.
Suddenly, there is silence, and an eternity seems to pass, the hands on the clock ticking ominously loud, before the door opens and their manager walks out.
“We’re leaving. Get in the van.”
“But what about Fan-ge?” Zitao asks, but his question remains unanswered as the manager all but shoves them out the door.
“We have a flight to catch.”
Zitao lingers by the doorway, teeth worrying on his lower lip, and Jongdae places a hand on the small of his back.
“Come on, Zitao. Yifan’ll show up. Don’t worry.”
Zitao is not placated much, but shuffles along, Jongdae at his side, and Minseok can see his arms tightening around his panda plush.
For Zitao’s sake (and his, too), he hopes they find Yifan soon.
*
The plane is about to take off, and Yifan is nowhere to be found.
Luhan, antsy as enough as it is from his acrophobia, is practically jumping out of his seat, only kept down by his seatbelt and Minseok and Yixing together holding him down. Zitao grips his panda even tighter to his chest while Jongdae tries to calm him, although they don’t really seem to be getting anywhere. Their manager is glued to his phone, muttering rapidly and angrily in the aisle seat, waving off the flight attendant when she tries to tell him to shut off his phone.
“Hyung,” Jongdae asks their manager, “did you manage to get ahold of Yifan-hyung?”
Their manager purses his lips. “I think we should wait until we get back to Korea for this conversation.”
“Why?”
“It’s… complicated. Very complicated.”
Zitao opens his mouth to ask a question, but the flight attendants have begun their safety spiel that they’ve all heard a thousand times, and soon enough Luhan’s crushing all the bones in Minseok’s hand while Minseok’s stomach lurches and the plane takes off.
His phone feels heavy in his pocket; even though he can’t use it to contact Yifan at thirty-five thousand feet in the air, he can’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, Yifan had sent him a message.
On the other side of Luhan, Yixing pulls a face, making eye contact with Minseok and flicking his eyes downward towards his hand, where his fingers are also having the life squeezed out of them.
Bless Yixing’s soul for trying to make things a little lighter, even though Minseok figures that, other than Zitao, Yixing’s the most hurt of all-it’s no secret that the two had a weird sort of bond going on.
“Tell me when we’ve landed,” Luhan mutters. They’ve made this flight hundreds, maybe thousands of times by now, but Luhan still thinks the world is going to end each time they make it. Minseok wonders if he can sue for medical damages, with all the joint problems he’ll probably have in the future.
“Do you know what’s wrong with duizhang?” Yixing whispers, and Minseok’s heart skips a beat at the word.
Duizhang. Leader. Is Yifan still their leader, even if he isn’t here?
“I don’t know,” he says, and he gets the feeling he’s going to have to get used to saying that a lot, “but I probably should.”
He should, because even though Yifan led the group, everyone leans on Minseok, whether they like or not. He's the one who holds the maknaes when they cry at night; he’s the one who keeps Kyungsoo from murdering the rest of the 92-line; he’s the one who pats Joonmyun on the head and reassures him that he’s doing a good job; he’s the one who cleans the kitchen with Yixing in the middle of the night when they get too hungry to worry about their diets; he’s the one who keeps Luhan from terrorizing everyone else when he’s bored.
He’s the one who spent hours sitting alone in Yifan’s room when he’d locked everyone else out; he’s the one who keeps Yifan intact when the leader feels like he’s breaking apart at the seams; he’s the one who kissed Yifan before they went to bed late last night and said see you in the morning.
Only morning came and went and now it’s afternoon and they’re all wearing sunglasses so none of the fans can photograph their bloodshot eyes as they wade their way through the airport mass, trying to ignore the calls of where’s Kris? while cracking weak smiles and waving here and there.
Another manager’s pulled their van to a side entrance, and they all wave one last time to the fans before they crawl inside, hearts heavy.
Minseok’s about to ask what’s wrong with the Yifan situation, but the managers have already started muttering to each other in their manager-y way that discourages any and all future questions until they get back to the dorm.
He settles for pulling his phone out of his pocket and turning the connection back on, waiting for everything to reload and waiting, painfully, for that little yellow Kakao square in the top left corner to pop up.
It doesn’t.
The ride back to the dorm is tense; Luhan and Jongdae lay off their usual antics, Yixing stares blankly out the window, and Zitao stares blankly at his phone.
Minseok presses the unlock button on his phone on and off the whole ride, wondering why Yifan isn’t sending him anything. Dumbly, he realizes that he hasn’t even tried sending a message first, and opens up the app
you ok? he finally settles on, sending the message before his nerves force him to delete and retype it for the umpteenth time. He sighs, phone dropping into his lap as he leans back in his seat.
All too soon, they’re pulling into the parking lot of the apartment complex and one of the managers prods Minseok in the arm, startling him and prompting him to crawl out of the car.
They walk, single file, through the halls and to their dorm. Jongdae punches in the code and the door swings open soundlessly, followed by a pop of confetti.
“Surprise!” Chanyeol and Baekhyun shout. “Welcome back, M friends! Ready for more hell and concert prep?”
They are met with silence, and Chanyeol's manic grin slowly fades from his face.
“Hey… where’s Yifan-hyung?”
“About that,” their manager says, clearing his throat, “I think it’s best that we all sit down and talk.”
*
“What do you mean he’s left?”
“Calm down, Baekhyun-ah,” their manager sighs. “He vanished from the Beijing dorm and refused to come back. He’s… he’s filing a lawsuit to leave.”
“This is like Super Junior all over again,” Luhan mutters, leaning into Yixing, who just strokes his hair.
“What about the concert?” Joonmyun asks, the most outwardly distraught of all of them. “It’s in ten days, for fuck’s sake! He knows this. He knows. How could he betray us like this?”
Zitao sniffles from beside him, seconding the thought.
It was no secret that Yifan had never been particularly happy with SM, nor with being in EXO, what with his continual vanishing acts, sometimes for weeks and months on end. They’d all figured, though, that Yifan would stick out the eight years in the contract with the rest of them and then use the fame to push himself off on a successful acting career.
None of them had expected that he’d shove them all down into a black hole to reach for his own star.
Kyungsoo stands abruptly and stalks off into his room, Jongin springing to his feet shortly after to make sure that the vocalist didn’t break anything. One by one, the members file off on their own, muttering that they needed some air or expressing desires to go work off the sudden stress, until it’s just Minseok and the managers left sitting around the dinner table.
“Minseok-ah,” one sighs, “I know you had something… special with Yifan.” He treads lightly, not wanting to push any boundaries, but it’s an open secret in the group. “Do you know…?”
“He hasn’t said anything to me.” Minseok’s voice comes out sharper than he means it to, but the manager says nothing about his tone.
Another sigh. “I thought so. In any case… we need to settle on a new leader. What about Yixing…?” He turns to the other manager, intent on starting another conversation, which would be Minseok’s cue to leave.
But…
“I’ll do it.”
“Hm?”
“I… I’ll lead in Yifan’s absence.”
Minseok doesn’t know where the declaration comes from-he’s not much of an outward leader, choosing to work by convincing and smooth talking rather than ruling with an iron fist. He knows that Yixing would be a better fit-after all, Yixing was originally supposed to lead EXO-M, and it would make more sense, given their Chinese promotions, but it’s a running gag that he can’t remember anything, so what good would he really do as a leader?
“I’ll do it,” he repeats, his voice coming out surer, more firm. “I can do it.”
The manager, to his surprise, gives him an approving nod. “We’ll give you guys the rest of the day off to process this… but starting tomorrow, be ready, Minseok-ah. Alright?”
He bows in acknowledgement and walks off to his room in a daze, falling over on his wolf bedspread as the sudden adrenaline rush leaves his body.
He pulls his phone out of his pocket numbly, opening up the chat shortcut he had for Yifan on his homescreen.
The little 1 next to his earlier message is gone, but there’s not reply.
That bastard.
Minseok opens up the keyboard, fully intending on tying out a long message, but he can’t bring himself to do it.
Instead, he closes his eyes, praying that sleep will overcome him soon so he can try and forget the chaos of what should have been a day full of concert rehearsal and dumb antics.
(It doesn’t come quickly, nor is it particularly peaceful, but it’s the first time in eons that he’s slept for more than nine hours in a row.)
*
He wakes up the next morning feeling, to put it mildly, like shit.
Luhan’s shaking him awake, an impish smile on his face, hair damp, towel slung around his neck.
“I hope you don’t mind, duizhang, but I showered first since you were still sleeping. Hurry up and claim your da ge spot before Joonmyun tries to snag it!”
Luhan’s tone is teasing, and he pats Minseok on the cheek for good measure before scampering out to eat before they head to practice.
Groggily, Minseok rolls out of bed, not the first to wake up for the first time ever. He barely remembers to grab a pair of shorts and clean underwear to change into after his shower (after the great Sehun incident of ’13, no one ever dared to forget their post-shower clothes again).
“Get out,” he teases Joonmyun, who’s lurking around the bathroom door. “Or go use the other one.”
“Sehun jumped in, and so did Zitao.”
Ah.
Well, that explained everything.
“Guard the door well, Suho,” he replies, wondering briefly where he managed to get all the snark so early in the morning.
The bathroom is still slightly steamy from Luhan’s shower, and Minseok wastes no time stepping in and turning on the hot water, groaning audibly as the grime from the past day is washed off his body.
Too soon, he’s finished washing his hair and body, and since he sees no reason to prolong Joonmyun’s suffering, he shuts off the water and pats himself dry, pulling on his underwear and shorts. He drapes the towel on top of his head and shuffles out of the bathroom, barely even registering that Jongdae’s somehow managed to drag Joonmyun in and slam the door not five seconds after he’s left.
Shrugging, he towels off his hair and walks to the kitchen, sitting down next to Luhan and grabbing an apple.
“Hey, no naked in the kitchen!” Zitao whines from the other side (again, after the great Sehun incident of ’13, nakedness was banned in the kitchen).
“I’m wearing shorts.” Minseok rolls his eyes, taking a bite out of the fruit. It’s slightly under-ripe, and he frowns, but it’s still edible.
“Ooh, look at half-fifty-hyung,” Sehun teases, stealing a bit of meat from Zitao’s plate.
“So sexy,” Luhan chimes in, taking the opportunity to run cold fingers along Minseok’s side. “Look at you, Uminnie!”
Over the course of the next half-hour, all the members rotate in and out of the kitchen, grabbing food as they deemed fit and fooling around in the common area until they were all ready.
No one mentions the 186-centimeter-tall blond Chinese elephant in the room, and Minseok doesn’t know if that’s for the better or for the worse.
“Come on guys,” Joonmyun says after the eleven crazy beasts have been fed, “let’s go. We really need to crack down now.”
His declaration is not met without grumbling, but eventually, they all make their way into the two vans; M in the first and K in the second (after a brief scuffle, Sehun ends up in M’s van, wedged in the back firmly next to Zitao).
Minseok has his earbuds in like he always does, preparing to slide into the seat on the left behind the driver’s, but the manager shakes his head and motions for him to sit shotgun.
“You’re leader now,” he reminds Minseok as he adjusts the passenger seat to better fit his (not short, not short, not short) body. “We’re gonna go over some stuff.”
Minseok hums noncommittally, rolling the cord up around his phone and sticking it into his pocket. “Okay.”
“Just teasing, there isn’t much today, since it’s just concert stuff. Later on, though, be ready. No more Jay Chou rides.”
When they arrive at the SM building, they’re nearly mobbed again, and Minseok’s heart beats just a little too painfully when he sees the higher number of Kris placards and banners than usual.
They run into the building as per usual, trying their best to grab ahold of the gifts and letters that the fans push at them before they get lost in the mob, finally dashing through the glass doors and letting out a collective sigh of relief when they’re all present and accounted for.
“We’re all here?” Joonmyun asks, standing on his toes to survey them all. Minseok nods, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“Let’s go.”
They head for the largest practice room, bowing to the staff members they see on the way, and Minseok thinks it’s kind of funny, the way there’s just this giant wave of eleven heads ducking down every few feet.
“You guys have got a lot of work to do,” the trainer says the minute they step inside. “We have to rework everything. You’d think it’d be easy, but it’s not.”
Joonmyun sticks his hand out, raising an eyebrow at the rest to follow suit. Minseok almost climbs on Chanyeol in order to stick his hand on the very top, and Joonmyun counts down.
“Three… two… one… We are one! EXO, let’s love!”
*
The next ten days are grueling.
Reforming, redistributing, resynchronizing, refilming…
Everything needs to be redone, and even Minseok finds it difficult not to hate Yifan more than a little bit for this.
Somehow, though, it feels more like they’re just covering up for a temporary leave, like they would for any of the other members if they were injured or ill.
It’s not until the day of the first concert date when they drive past the concert venue, past the rows and rows of fans, and Yifan’s banner is absent along the other eleven, that Minseok truly feels that Yifan is gone, really and truly gone.
His phone, while constantly busy with messages from the managers and members and the occasional sasaeng, is resolutely silent from the one person he wants to hear from the most.
it’s the first day of the lost planet today, he types. wish you were here.
He’s about to turn off the screen and put his phone back into his pocket when a notification pops up.
good luck.
Minseok’s not sure if he’s relieved or just more nervous.
*
The first night is the worst, but it never really gets better after that, if Minseok’s truly honest with himself.
Yifan’s dance and rap sections are easy enough for another member to take over, but it’s the little interactions that are just so empty.
When Chanyeol flings his open water bottle over the crowd, Minseok can picture Yifan just behind, dumping a bottle of water down the happy virus’ shirt and running away.
When Yixing is doing his thing where he bows to everyone in the crowd a million times, Minseok can see Yifan standing beside him, hands linked, ever humble.
When Zitao’s out with a foot injury, he can imagine Yifan pushing his wheelchair across the stage during rehearsals, screaming nonsense and generally being a fool, doing anything he can to distract his favorite didi from the pain.
When Luhan’s manhandling him every other minute like he always does, he can feel the ghost of Yifan’s hands on his shoulders, a teasing glint in his eyes as he claims what’s his.
When the fans are screaming their names during the fanchants, and Yifan isn’t in them, he fills it in himself.
He’s there, but he’s not, and Minseok wonders if Yifan’s ever even bothered to come see any of the concerts, or even looked at the fancams.
He wonders if Yifan even keeps up with them at all anymore, if he saw their appearance on Happy Camp without him, saw the compilation video at the end that had brought nearly everyone to tears.
(He hopes, at least, that Yifan sees the videos that the fans have titled XIUMIN SEXY DANCING?!>!>!121!!!:!@:>@! and feels distress that he can’t get any of that.)
*
As the days tick by and Overdose promotions come to a close, Minseok finds himself with more and more free time.
Nearly all of the other members have solo schedules; Chanyeol on Roommate, Kyungsoo and Luhan on their filming, Zitao on Law of the Jungle, Baekhyun and his musical, Jongdae with his soundtrack, Yixing with his Chinese hosting stints, Joonmyun hosting on Inkigayo-hell, even Jongin and Sehun got a pair interview.
Everyone except Minseok, who spends most of his days alternately drinking coffee, kicking a soccer ball against the wall, organizing his shoe collection for the umpteenth time, stalking all of Yifan’s social media accounts and articles, and checking his phone aimlessly.
He sighs. Despite being the “trendiest” member of EXO, he’s the only one with fuck all to do, and it’s driving him insane.
On the upside (or maybe the downside), it’s given him a lot of time to think about Yifan.
(Yifan, who he thought he loved.
Yifan, who, if he’s going to be completely honest with himself, he still loves.)
On the rare days that all eleven of them are actually in the dorm at the same time, they end up studiously avoiding each other. Tensions run high among everyone-Baekhyun’s on lockdown after news got out that he was dating Taeyeon and Chanyeol’s been a bit on edge ever since.
“Hyung,” he says, startling Minseok, who’d been reading an article about Yifan’s new movie, “you still look at this stuff?”
One look from Minseok told him everything he needed to know.
“He, um, looks good, hyung,” Chanyeol stammers, backing away and heading for his room.
And it’s true-Yifan does look good. He’s wearing a suit, and he’s lost a bit of that perpetually brooding look he’d always had in his EXO pictures. Now, he looks like some odd combination of high school Yifan and Kris, and Minseok’s not sure how he feels about it.
(Yifan’s handsome, he always is, but his eyes look so bright and Minseok wonders if Yifan even cares about him at all.)
On a whim one afternoon, he’s browsing some travel websites, bookmarking some pages for places he wants to visit but probably won’t get to for another twenty years.
Suddenly, his phone pings.
are you busy?
Minseok frowns-Yifan’s been gone for months, they haven’t exchanged messages since the first concert date, and he’s never started the conversation before.
no
check your email. please. the last favor i’ll ever ask of you.
Well. That certainly sounded shady.
Minseok pulls up his email, where he’s just gotten a forwarded email for a round-trip plane ticket to Guangzhou that takes off in two hours, along with an address.
It’s not the first time Yifan’s had an absolutely stupid last-minute idea, but Minseok’s not about to ask any questions.
He prints out the boarding pass and grabs his passport and wallet, shoving them into his pockets. He doesn’t pack a bag-he’s not planning on staying overnight.
He pulls on a jacket, checking to make sure that his earbuds are still inside the pocket where he’d left them a few days ago.
Almost as an afterthought, he scribbles a note and sticks it on the fridge. It’s almost laughable, really: gone to china, should be back before midnight, as if he’s taking a trip to the corner store.
But he pays it no heed. He has a plane to catch.
He slips on a pair of shoes and grabs someone’s face mask hanging on a hook (it’s a plain black one that’s a little too big, but it’ll have to do.)
Minseok slips out through a side door and calls for a taxi, staring out the window the entire ride to the airport.
He pays the fare and gets out, hunching in on himself to avoid being seen, but he needn’t have bothered. No one’s expecting him, after all.
He gets through security quickly since he has no luggage with him, and before he knows it he’s sitting in a window seat near the back of the plane (Yifan’s frugal senses have remained with him even though he’s got money to burn, but Minseok finds he honestly doesn’t care), fingers drumming on the armrest as he stares at the clouds beneath. They’re white, puffy, fragmented, almost like sheets of ice in the ocean of the sky. The glass is cold when Minseok presses his fingers to it, and he makes a soft whoosh, smiling softly at the memories of the days when they were supposed to have some sort of stupid powers.
Sighing, he leans back on his seat, bringing up the note app on his phone, and he begins to type.
Yifan, I don’t know what to say when it comes to you. I miss you. We all miss you. When are you going to come home? Every day we…
*
The plane lands almost four hours later, and Minseok makes his way out quickly-it’s possible that word’s gotten out about his sudden disappearance, and he doesn’t want to risk anything.
He speed-walks out the gate and to the exit, where he hails a taxi and doesn’t even attempt to speak in Mandarin to the driver, instead holding up the address. He’ll probably get charged extra, seeming as he looks like an easy-to-con tourist, but he doesn’t even care.
All he cares about is that soon, he’ll see Yifan.
The taxi pulls up in front of a modest-looking apartment building, and Minseok tosses several Chinese bills at him, not checking to count the amount properly.
His heart pounds with every step he takes as he walks through the halls, wondering how he’ll react.
Finally, his feet land in front of Yifan’s door. He knocks twice, then steps back.
The door opens, revealing none other than one Wu Yifan.
He’s a little chubbier than Yifan remembers, and it’s ironic, because for once Minseok’s the skinny one. His hair is dark, close-cropped on the sides, and his skin is a bit tanner, his jaw unshaven.
This is Yifan, but this is not his Yifan.
This is the Yifan who left him behind.
“Come back,” he says, his voice breaking and he thought he could handle this, he really did, but the little speech he’d written has all gone to shit now and it’s all he can do to keep from dropping to his knees right then and there.
“I can’t.”
“The hell you can’t, Yifan. The hell you can’t.”
“I can’t, Minseok, I just can’t.” Yifan sounds so, so weary, like all he wants to do is curl up in bed and fall asleep for a million years.
But Minseok can’t even feel any pity for him, because the rest of them all feel the same way.
“Why, then. Explain to me, because I got nothing. We all got nothing. All fucking eleven of us, Yifan. Did you forget you’re supposed to be the leader? Did you forget that you left five of us behind back in China when you left that day, and another six in Korea? Did you know that Zitao’s cried his eyes out every night waiting for you to come back and I held him and told him it was going to be okay, when I didn’t even know what the hell was going on? Did you realize that Joonmyun’s gone insane since you left? Did you even stop once to think about what you were doing?”
Minseok’s chest heaves, and he gasps, eyes narrowed as he glares. Yifan wants to say something, he can tell, but he plows on.
“Did you think about me at all? You lied to me that night, remember? Is that how you want this to end? On a half-assed lie? You could have told me, you bastard. I thought that was how relationships worked. I thought we were supposed to trust each other.”
“M-Minseok-ah, I’m sorry-”
Minseok laughs, and the sound is wild, foreign, crazy, even to his own ears, and he can feel tears burning in his eyes as he wipes at them with the back of his hand.
“Now you’re sorry? You’re a little too late for that, Yifan. Why did you even want me to come, if you don’t even have anything to say to me?”
Minseok sighs, breathing in deeply and letting it out slowly, trying to calm his pounding heart. Yifan takes his silence as an opportunity to speak.
“I know I’m late. Don’t you think I’ve been hurting too? It’s why I needed you, Minseok. It’s why I needed to see you, because it hurts so bad and I don’t know what to do anymore.”
The syllables sound oddly slurred and stilted; Minseok figures he’s not used to speaking Korean after being surrounded by his native language. He’d spent five years learning the damned language and he’d never need to use it again.
Either that, or he’s slightly drunk.
(It’s probably both).
“I needed out, Minseok. I never wanted to be an idol in the first place. I wanted to act, remember? I went along with this because I wanted to debut, I just wanted something to show for my years in SM. I never asked to have my privacy violated, I never asked to have my face plastered around everywhere, I never asked to be worked to the bone with nothing in return.”
“You think any of us wanted that?” Minseok asks. “We’ve all been through the same things, Yifan. Stop acting like you suffered alone.”
“Don’t act like you understand!” Yifan snaps, and something in his eyes hardens. “Don’t act like you understand leaving your home for five years, lonely like nothing else, and then everyone thinks it’s a game to treat you like you’re their plaything. Don’t act like you know what it’s like to be me, because you fucking don’t, Minseok. You don’t, and you never will.”
“Stop trying to make yourself out to be some sort of martyr!” Minseok shouts, and Yifan winces, shrinking back into himself. Minseok rarely ever shouted, and his anger was starting to scare even himself. “Stop it. You think I had it easy? At least you were popular. You know what I had? I had people telling me I was fat, I was ugly, I was leeching off of Luhan’s popularity and all I had to show for it was a minute of lines in our entire album. All I wanted was to sing. Then all I wanted was to die. And now?”
He pauses, walking up, closer to Yifan, close enough that he can feel the soft puffs of Yifan’s breath on his forehead and he can count the hairs on his unshaved upper lip.
“And now?” he repeats, softer, finally letting the angry tears go. “Now, I don’t even know what I want. I don’t even know if I still want you, after all you put me through. Every time I see a picture of your face I’m torn between wanted to smash my lips against yours and wanting to smash your face into the floor.”
Yifan reaches, tentative, long fingers ghosting along Minseok’s jawline, the pad of his thumb sweeping gently underneath his eye. Minseok closes his eyes, his body tight with tension as Yifan’s palm slides back behind his head.
“I missed you,” Yifan murmurs, “I missed you every day. But I knew that if I came back, if I came back to you, I would have wanted to stay. And I can’t, Minseok. I can’t stay.”
Yifan pulls Minseok towards him, and he trips over his feet, chin banging on Yifan’s shoulder as his arms tighten around his back.
Minseok’s eyes fly open, and he breathes in the scent of Yifan’s fancy shampoo and the faint trace of the cologne he’d given him as a birthday present last year, and his arms come up too, wrapping around Yifan’s torso.
“Will you wait for me?” Yifan asks, his voice so impossibly faint that Minseok almost imagines he’d heard it. “Will you wait for me, until I’m not Kris and you’re not Xiumin and we’re just two idiots living together in love? Will you wait for me, until I can take us both away and we can just be happy together?”
His voice is hopeful, so hopeful, but Minseok swallows hard, Yifan’s shoulder pressing in more firmly as he does, so tight it feels like he can’t breathe.
“I can’t, Yifan,” he says, echoing the man’s own words back. “I can’t. You know that, Yifan. I love you, but I can’t wait for you forever.”
“Somehow,” Yifan breathes, “I already knew.”
Yifan’s arms loosen around him, and Minseok follows suit, stepping back enough so that he could look at Yifan's face without having to tilt his head too far up.
“This… this isn’t how I wanted this to go,” Minseok sighs, an empty space in his chest where his heart should be. “I was supposed to tell you to come back, and you were supposed to say yes and we were supposed to be fools and happy and pretend that nothing changed.”
“I still love you,” Yifan says, dumbly, as if that changed anything at all.
(It doesn’t, but Minseok appreciates the sentiment anyways.)
Despite everything, Minseok cracks a smile, shaking his head. “You’re an idiot.”
“I know.”
Minseok strides forward, grabbing Yifan’s collar and presses their lips together.
It’s messy, it’s angry, it’s passionate, and they’re both out of breath by the time Minseok finally breaks it off, setting himself back down on his heels and pushing Yifan back upright.
“The leader position is still yours, if you ever want it back. I’ve been keeping it warm… but no one can herd the kids around like you, duizhang.”
And Minseok turns his back on Yifan, walking back down the hallway like nothing had ever happened.
There’s a part of him that still hopes Yifan will follow him, like one of those stupid dramas that Zitao likes to watch, and he’ll grab Minseok’s wrist and push him up against a wall and tell him not to leave, that they can be together.
His footsteps fall muffled on the carpeted hallway floor, tears burning at the corners of his eyes.
He wipes them away on the sleeve of his shirt, squares his shoulders, and continues on.
He doesn’t look back.
Author’s note: I hope this is what you wanted ;; tbh I haven't been following exo as much lately so i hope it's not all wrong OTL. idk if it's any good though, I wanted it to be longer but I'm so bad at longfic. the middle-end is really messy too and there's not a whole much of xiumin being leader dslkfhasdljkh OTL maybe after this is all over I'll redo it. but I hope you like it ;;