Drunken Confessions
Title: Drunken Confessions
Rating: G
Pairing: 2min
Summary: broken!2min. (although not really, because I never like sad endings.)
Taemin's a doctor, and Minho's made it big in the music industry now. The gap's wide, what they do is different.
A/N: Based on a song that I really, really like. Cookies for anyone who can guess what it is. (It's not a SHINee song though.)
Taemin sat cross legged on the floor, table set out with their dinner. He was proud of it this time; the roast duck wasn’t burnt or undercooked, the vegetables cooked just so they held a crunch. The only problem was that the food getting cold. The clock was ticking, each second turning over into minutes.
‘Taemin-ah, I’ll be home by 6,’ His voice was excited. ‘Manager hyung said that I deserve a rest.’
He couldn’t help but be infected by the enthusiasm as well. ‘I’m getting off early as well, hyung. And I’m not on call tonight either! I’ll fix dinner, it’s been so long since we’ve eaten together.’
Quarter past 6.
The steam was no longer wafting off the dishes, and Taemin looked at them doubtfully, and got up with a sigh, placing the duck in the oven to keep warm. It wouldn’t be that long until he came home, he promised himself. It’s just traffic, he told himself.
Half past 6.
He probably just had to talk to his trainers after, that was all.
11 minutes to 7.
He was dreading that phone call. He hoped it wouldn’t come. After all, wasn’t no news good news?
The phone rang, echoing through the still air.
‘Taeminnie.’ He could hear the defeat, imagine him running his free hand through his hair. Get a haircut, he wanted to tell him. ‘Apparently, my manager forgot to tell me that I still have choreography to learn. Don’t bother waiting up for me, I’ll be late home again. I’m sorry Taemin.’
Laugh it off. ‘It’s alright, hyung. I only burnt the dinner again, so we would have only had takeaway again. It’s a wonder I’m a doctor, right?’
A chuckle. ‘My smart, smart Taeminnie. Saving lives every day. Listen, I gotta go, ok? They’re looking for me. Love
you, but you know that, right?’ There’s static on the other end.
He didn’t hang up immediately, imagining him in the company building with bright fluorescent lights, whilst he is at home surrounded with candlelight he lit in anticipation. ‘Love you too,’ he murmured, even though he knows that he isn’t there to hear.
But you know that, right?
~
It’s a cloudy, Tuesday morning. Bright, the pavement still wet from last night’s rain. He was waiting for him to appear, already ordered an Americano for him and a Frappuccino for himself. Drummed his fingers against the table until he spotted him, coat held above his head to protect his hair from the oncoming drizzle.
He slid into the chair opposite him, fingers automatically cupping the coffee cup in front of him for warmth, but his face doesn’t have that even smile Taemin is so fond of.
What’s wrong, Taemin wanted to ask. He didn’t look up to meet Taemin’s eyes until he said his name.
‘Minho.’
His expression was carefully blank.
‘Taemin.’
He didn't like the way Minho said his name this time. It’s full of regret, not full of the affection and love that carefully cradles his name every time it passes his lips.
Like they’re strangers.
‘We have to end this.’
Taemin smiled uncertainly. ‘What do you mean?’
‘We have to stop. It’s not right, what we have between us. It’s not working out. Can’t you see? It’s the end.’
There was a screech when Minho shoved his chair back that deafened his ears, and he can’t move. The Americano remained there, black and still and untouched. He couldn't even run to stop Minho running into the rain and out of his sight.
Out of his life.
~
His phone buzzes on his bedside table. Groaning, he rolls over and fumbles clumsily, eyes still closed as he presses the receive button and brings it to his ears.
‘Hello?’
‘Taemin-ah.’ Evident relief is in the caller’s voice, even if the words are slightly slurred.
‘…Minho. Please. Don’t do this again.’ A hand flutters over his eyelids, blocking out all streetlight that made its way through his curtains, giving his surroundings a faint outline.
‘Taemin. Taemin,’ He’s singing, a low rumble of a laugh. ‘Taemin-ah, how are you?’ He sounds carefree, as if he was flying through the cool night air.
‘You’re drunk again, aren’t you?’ His voice is a dead monotone, tired from all this. He knows how it will work; the apologies, the I love yous, drunken mutterings he would only be able to half hear.
A deep breath on the other end; Minho works on keeping his voice steady and normal. ‘No, Taemin-ah. Don’t start this again. Don't say that again. Taemin, I just wanted to tell you, I love you. But you know that, right? You can see that. Because Taemin, I think I’m a little crazy about you.’
He doesn’t know how to respond to this. He’s heard it all so often before, he doesn’t even know if he needs to reply. There’s a silence where Taemin is, but he can hear the thumping nightclub music in the background and Minho keeps babbling, all these random things tumbling out of his mouth.
‘Did you see that last performance on TV, Taemin? That was for you. But Taemin, you know that already. Everything I did was for you. I always just want to make you proud of me.’
Of course he saw. He couldn’t help but see on every channel that he switched to. No escape, no escape from seeing him, a thousand cameras always capturing his every move.
‘I just called, because I wanted to talk to you. Hear your voice. I’m sorry Taemin. So sorry. You’re probably sleeping now, aren’t you?’ A self-conscious laugh, sounding more sober than he did at the beginning of the call. ‘But thing is Taemin, I need you. All these people I’m surrounded by, they don’t know me. They don’t know me like you do. They think I’m that guy cracking jokes all the time on those variety shows, but they don’t know what I’m like when I’m at home. Because really, what’s so great about my crooked pride? This is all just a mask, the public can’t know, they can’t know that I have to act like nothing’s wrong.’
Why did you leave then? He wants to ask. But he can’t, because he knows if he gives in - gives him an inch, Minho will drop it everything he’s worked so hard for in a heartbeat, just to be with him.
‘I’m so stupid, Taemin. Why did I realise so late? I don’t need any of this. I only need you.’
A softer voice can be heard, low and sultry and he only just makes out what they are saying.
‘Let’s have another drink, and we can go back to your place…’
‘Minho. Where’s Kibum?’
He can trust Kibum. He’s the only one of Minho’s friends in the music industry that he knows.
‘I don’t know, Taemin. He didn’t come out with me tonight. But Taemin, I was just saying. What was I saying? You’re doing well, right? You’re happy? Still saving lives?’
He doesn’t know what to say, panics momentarily because Kibum is always the one that makes sure Minho gets home safely. ‘Hang on, Minho.’
Kibum’s number is in his contact list, right? He hopes fervently that it is as he scrolls through quickly. The phone rings, and Taemin is glad that he hasn’t changed his phone number again to escape from those fans.
‘Hello?’
‘Kibum? I know it’s late, and I’m sorry, but where are you right now?’
‘Oh…Taemin, right? I’m at my family home, I figured since it’s the weekend I could go and visit for a few days. Why?’
He’s agitated now, pacing the small space around his bed. ‘Kibum, I don’t know what to do.’
There’s a sigh. ‘Did he phone you again?’
‘He’s drunk and he’s out in a nightclub with a girl and he keeps saying all this stuff over and over again and Kibum, I don’t know how much more I can take.’
There’s a pause as Taemin tries to calm himself down, and Kibum waits until his breathing is steady.
‘Taemin-ah, I hate to ask this of you but…can you go find Minho? We can’t have him do anything stupid in public, the press would have a field day. And his manager is sick of this and he’s not even supposed to be outside. Taemin, please? You’re the only person I can trust, because - well, I know you still care about him.’
He stops in his pacing. ‘Oh. O-ok. I’ll just - get ready.’ His pants are on the floor from when he pulled them off to sleep only a few hours ago, and he steps through the leg holes and tugs them up, buckling his belt with one hand as he reconnects to Minho.
He sighs. ‘Minho, where are you?’
A laugh, and Taemin suddenly knows where. ‘Taemin, you know where. Our first date. Remember? I’ll never forget, love. Why? Because your birthday is still marked on my calendar.’
His keys are on the kitchen counter, and he can feel the cool metal on his skin, jagged edges digging into his smooth palm.
‘Wait there, Minho. I’m coming to get you.’
A/N: anyone able to guess?
Urgh I really don't like the size of this font
Rating: G
Pairing: 2min
Summary: broken!2min. (although not really, because I never like sad endings.)
Taemin's a doctor, and Minho's made it big in the music industry now. The gap's wide, what they do is different.
A/N: Based on a song that I really, really like. Cookies for anyone who can guess what it is. (It's not a SHINee song though.)
Taemin sat cross legged on the floor, table set out with their dinner. He was proud of it this time; the roast duck wasn’t burnt or undercooked, the vegetables cooked just so they held a crunch. The only problem was that the food getting cold. The clock was ticking, each second turning over into minutes.
‘Taemin-ah, I’ll be home by 6,’ His voice was excited. ‘Manager hyung said that I deserve a rest.’
He couldn’t help but be infected by the enthusiasm as well. ‘I’m getting off early as well, hyung. And I’m not on call tonight either! I’ll fix dinner, it’s been so long since we’ve eaten together.’
Quarter past 6.
The steam was no longer wafting off the dishes, and Taemin looked at them doubtfully, and got up with a sigh, placing the duck in the oven to keep warm. It wouldn’t be that long until he came home, he promised himself. It’s just traffic, he told himself.
Half past 6.
He probably just had to talk to his trainers after, that was all.
11 minutes to 7.
He was dreading that phone call. He hoped it wouldn’t come. After all, wasn’t no news good news?
The phone rang, echoing through the still air.
‘Taeminnie.’ He could hear the defeat, imagine him running his free hand through his hair. Get a haircut, he wanted to tell him. ‘Apparently, my manager forgot to tell me that I still have choreography to learn. Don’t bother waiting up for me, I’ll be late home again. I’m sorry Taemin.’
Laugh it off. ‘It’s alright, hyung. I only burnt the dinner again, so we would have only had takeaway again. It’s a wonder I’m a doctor, right?’
A chuckle. ‘My smart, smart Taeminnie. Saving lives every day. Listen, I gotta go, ok? They’re looking for me. Love
you, but you know that, right?’ There’s static on the other end.
He didn’t hang up immediately, imagining him in the company building with bright fluorescent lights, whilst he is at home surrounded with candlelight he lit in anticipation. ‘Love you too,’ he murmured, even though he knows that he isn’t there to hear.
But you know that, right?
~
It’s a cloudy, Tuesday morning. Bright, the pavement still wet from last night’s rain. He was waiting for him to appear, already ordered an Americano for him and a Frappuccino for himself. Drummed his fingers against the table until he spotted him, coat held above his head to protect his hair from the oncoming drizzle.
He slid into the chair opposite him, fingers automatically cupping the coffee cup in front of him for warmth, but his face doesn’t have that even smile Taemin is so fond of.
What’s wrong, Taemin wanted to ask. He didn’t look up to meet Taemin’s eyes until he said his name.
‘Minho.’
His expression was carefully blank.
‘Taemin.’
He didn't like the way Minho said his name this time. It’s full of regret, not full of the affection and love that carefully cradles his name every time it passes his lips.
Like they’re strangers.
‘We have to end this.’
Taemin smiled uncertainly. ‘What do you mean?’
‘We have to stop. It’s not right, what we have between us. It’s not working out. Can’t you see? It’s the end.’
There was a screech when Minho shoved his chair back that deafened his ears, and he can’t move. The Americano remained there, black and still and untouched. He couldn't even run to stop Minho running into the rain and out of his sight.
Out of his life.
~
His phone buzzes on his bedside table. Groaning, he rolls over and fumbles clumsily, eyes still closed as he presses the receive button and brings it to his ears.
‘Hello?’
‘Taemin-ah.’ Evident relief is in the caller’s voice, even if the words are slightly slurred.
‘…Minho. Please. Don’t do this again.’ A hand flutters over his eyelids, blocking out all streetlight that made its way through his curtains, giving his surroundings a faint outline.
‘Taemin. Taemin,’ He’s singing, a low rumble of a laugh. ‘Taemin-ah, how are you?’ He sounds carefree, as if he was flying through the cool night air.
‘You’re drunk again, aren’t you?’ His voice is a dead monotone, tired from all this. He knows how it will work; the apologies, the I love yous, drunken mutterings he would only be able to half hear.
A deep breath on the other end; Minho works on keeping his voice steady and normal. ‘No, Taemin-ah. Don’t start this again. Don't say that again. Taemin, I just wanted to tell you, I love you. But you know that, right? You can see that. Because Taemin, I think I’m a little crazy about you.’
He doesn’t know how to respond to this. He’s heard it all so often before, he doesn’t even know if he needs to reply. There’s a silence where Taemin is, but he can hear the thumping nightclub music in the background and Minho keeps babbling, all these random things tumbling out of his mouth.
‘Did you see that last performance on TV, Taemin? That was for you. But Taemin, you know that already. Everything I did was for you. I always just want to make you proud of me.’
Of course he saw. He couldn’t help but see on every channel that he switched to. No escape, no escape from seeing him, a thousand cameras always capturing his every move.
‘I just called, because I wanted to talk to you. Hear your voice. I’m sorry Taemin. So sorry. You’re probably sleeping now, aren’t you?’ A self-conscious laugh, sounding more sober than he did at the beginning of the call. ‘But thing is Taemin, I need you. All these people I’m surrounded by, they don’t know me. They don’t know me like you do. They think I’m that guy cracking jokes all the time on those variety shows, but they don’t know what I’m like when I’m at home. Because really, what’s so great about my crooked pride? This is all just a mask, the public can’t know, they can’t know that I have to act like nothing’s wrong.’
Why did you leave then? He wants to ask. But he can’t, because he knows if he gives in - gives him an inch, Minho will drop it everything he’s worked so hard for in a heartbeat, just to be with him.
‘I’m so stupid, Taemin. Why did I realise so late? I don’t need any of this. I only need you.’
A softer voice can be heard, low and sultry and he only just makes out what they are saying.
‘Let’s have another drink, and we can go back to your place…’
‘Minho. Where’s Kibum?’
He can trust Kibum. He’s the only one of Minho’s friends in the music industry that he knows.
‘I don’t know, Taemin. He didn’t come out with me tonight. But Taemin, I was just saying. What was I saying? You’re doing well, right? You’re happy? Still saving lives?’
He doesn’t know what to say, panics momentarily because Kibum is always the one that makes sure Minho gets home safely. ‘Hang on, Minho.’
Kibum’s number is in his contact list, right? He hopes fervently that it is as he scrolls through quickly. The phone rings, and Taemin is glad that he hasn’t changed his phone number again to escape from those fans.
‘Hello?’
‘Kibum? I know it’s late, and I’m sorry, but where are you right now?’
‘Oh…Taemin, right? I’m at my family home, I figured since it’s the weekend I could go and visit for a few days. Why?’
He’s agitated now, pacing the small space around his bed. ‘Kibum, I don’t know what to do.’
There’s a sigh. ‘Did he phone you again?’
‘He’s drunk and he’s out in a nightclub with a girl and he keeps saying all this stuff over and over again and Kibum, I don’t know how much more I can take.’
There’s a pause as Taemin tries to calm himself down, and Kibum waits until his breathing is steady.
‘Taemin-ah, I hate to ask this of you but…can you go find Minho? We can’t have him do anything stupid in public, the press would have a field day. And his manager is sick of this and he’s not even supposed to be outside. Taemin, please? You’re the only person I can trust, because - well, I know you still care about him.’
He stops in his pacing. ‘Oh. O-ok. I’ll just - get ready.’ His pants are on the floor from when he pulled them off to sleep only a few hours ago, and he steps through the leg holes and tugs them up, buckling his belt with one hand as he reconnects to Minho.
He sighs. ‘Minho, where are you?’
A laugh, and Taemin suddenly knows where. ‘Taemin, you know where. Our first date. Remember? I’ll never forget, love. Why? Because your birthday is still marked on my calendar.’
His keys are on the kitchen counter, and he can feel the cool metal on his skin, jagged edges digging into his smooth palm.
‘Wait there, Minho. I’m coming to get you.’
A/N: anyone able to guess?
Urgh I really don't like the size of this font