Chapter Text
What am I doing?
It was the only thought Jonghyun could seem to complete. His mind was a whirlwind of regrets and wishes and fears. He was a broken record, smashed against a wall until the shards glittered silver and black. He was always caught in a loop of his own sins, but he never seemed to be able to stop himself.
Jonghyun couldn’t remember what day it was, and the blinds pulled shut on his motel room didn’t help with the time of day. Every second felt like déjà vu of years he’d thought he’d left behind, a life he’d thought he’d left behind.
He couldn’t do this again. This life was built on pins and needles, a castle of cards so carelessly built that a single breath could push it down. A breath named Hwang Minhyun, he thought bitterly.
It was not as if Jonghyun blamed Minhyun for this. It was more Jonghyun’s fault, as everything seemed to be. He orchestrated every fucking event, pulling strings like a demented puppet master and yet he had the gall to cry at the blood on his hands.
No, it wasn’t Minhyun’s fault. But he would be the one who got hurt.
It was days like this that reminded Jonghyun of the beginning, of who he used to be and the darkness that dug into his veins if he inhaled deeply enough. The room was too thick with smoke for him to see his hand if he put it up, and he watched the world around him pass in a haze. He pulled himself to his feet, ignoring the vertigo and almost painful pang behind his ribcage. Someone—Jonghyun wasn’t sure of their name—called out a question, and he simply put up a hand in answer, not willing to come to terms with the reality of why he’d come here.
He steadied himself on the way to the bathroom, and pushed the lights on with one outstretched hand. It was dingy at best, some unknown growth in the crook between the toilet and the shower and the mirror fuzzy with age. He observed himself bringing one shaking hand to the mirror and clearing it to look at himself, swallowing hard at the feeling of detachment overlaying it all.
Dark circles ringed his eyes, and his lips were nearly colorless in the dim yellow light. He swore once, shocked at the movement of his mouth in the reflection. It reminded him of that day in Minhyun’s apartment so long ago, and the thought of Minhyun was sobering.
What am I doing?
He was doing what he’d always done—finding something good, and then fucking it up.
—
When he got back to the apartment, it was late, somewhere between late night and early morning. His motor skills were still slightly impaired, and he pulled the door open with a little too much force. It slammed against the wall of his apartment complex. It was a diminutive place, built to disappear into a bland landscape. Inside, the tinny sound of water running was audible, but it was only the broken pipes.
Jisung was curled up on his couch, his phone sandwiched between his cheek and his shoulder. His eyelids were fluttered closed, the peace of that action contrasted with the circles ringing his eyes and the harsh twist of his mouth. The air was thin, and Jonghyun drew in a long breath only to feel just as lost as before.
His keys jingled in his hand as he placed them on the stool and pulled off his jacket. Jisung stirred at the noise, and Jonghyun winced as he slipped into his bedroom. He tossed his phone on the bed after turning it on, busying himself so he didn’t have to see the messages and calls flood the screen.
After a brief, scalding shower, he opened his laptop. Water dripped down the side of his neck, wetting the thin sheets. He knew the email address well enough, but bile still rose in his throat when he typed it out. Once it was done, he closed the tab and shut his laptop down before shoving it away from him and falling back on the bed.
It wasn’t that he’d thought himself capable of change, not truly, but he was disappointed nonetheless.
—
“Let’s get lunch.”
“Pardon?” Minhyun asked, suddenly tuning back into the conversation.
“You, Jonghyun, Jeonghan and I,” Dongho said amiably. “It’s been a long time.”
Jonghyun. Minhyun hadn’t heard from him since the party. “I’ll ask him about it. How are you and Jeonghan doing?”
Dongho sighed, but it was content. “It’s going well. He makes me happy.”
“I’m happy for you,” Minhyun said, but his eyes were glued to the television. An ad was teasing the final episode of a drama—the one that they were supposed to finish together.
“What about you and Jonghyun?” Dongho asked.
Minhyun smiled at the screen. “He makes me happy too.”
“You deserve someone like that,” Dongho replied, and his voice was soft.
“Do I?” Minhyun responded absentmindedly. “I’ll see you later, Dongho-yah.”
He hung up, and the dial tone echoed in the emptiness of the apartment. The thin line between being alone and loneliness had curled itself into a noose around his neck and now Minhyun could hardly breathe. His phone buzzed again, and he blinked in confusion.
“Jonghyun?” he asked. A beat of silence, another ragged breath, and then his voice.
“Minhyun.” It wasn’t an answer as much as it was a statement. It came as he always did, something more than his words, the glassy surface of an endlessly deep ocean.
“Where have you been?” Minhyun asked, pulling himself up. “You’ve never been out this long.”
Jonghyun didn’t answer, and the silence stretched out between them painfully. Finally, he asked, “What did I miss at work?”
“You didn’t miss anything,” Minhyun replied.
“Thanks,” Jonghyun said quietly. His voice sounded far away, thin and reedy in the near silence.
“Are you…” Minhyun started. “Are you okay?”
Another beat of silence and then, “Yeah. I’m okay.”
Minhyun smiled. “That’s a relief.”
He hung up then, and Minhyun switched off the television. That was the first lie Jonghyun ever told him.
—
They decided to go out for lunch a couple weeks later. Winter was beginning to suffocate Seoul and Minhyun tightened his scarf around his neck.
Jonghyun had been at work every day since, and frankly, nothing seemed to be wrong. It was as if his minor absence had been completely smoothed over. But sometimes, Minhyun caught him watching everything with a sense of cold nostalgia, eerie in its detachment.
When Minhyun arrived at the restaurant, he realized it was the same place that they’d first gone to. Inside, the waitress, Kyla, took one look at him and grimaced. “Is your friend coming this time too?”
Minhyun smiled sheepishly. “Yeah.”
Kyla frowned and called, “Sungyeon unnie! This one’s yours.”
Sungyeon smiled at him, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Is this the entirety of your party?”
Minhyun shook his head, glancing back at the white-carpeted landscape before answering. “No, there’re still three people coming.”
“Two,” Jonghyun said from behind him, voice slightly breathless. Minhyun blinked and looked at him, but his eyes were fixed on Sungyeon. His cheeks were pink with cold. “Two more people.”
“I see,” Sungyeon said. “Well, follow me anyway. I’m sure they can find you later.”
They slid into the booth awkwardly. Jonghyun glanced at him. “What do you want to eat this time around?”
Minhyun shrugged. “I’ll just have whatever you’re having. It’s Dongho’s turn to pay.”
“You say this like it’s supposed to reassure me,” Jonghyun joked, flipping through the menu idly.
Dongho arrived a couple minutes later, Jeonghan in tow. He sniffed as he gingerly took a seat. “The customer service here is abysmal.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s not the issue here,” Dongho muttered before smiling at them. “How have you two been!”
They glanced at each other. Jonghyun’s eyes held a question, but he wasn’t sure what it was. Minhyun replied, “Good.”
“Good to know our couple of the century is still solid,” Jeonghan said. “Who’s hungry?”
The meal was relatively short, which surprised Minhyun. Considering Jeonghan’s manners, he was expecting an extra hour of wait time. He chalked up the quick service to saliva in Jeonghan’s salad. Nearing the end, Minhyun was ready to go home and take a nap, but Jeonghan was finishing his low fat chocolate cake and Jonghyun seemed in no hurry to leave.
“Mm,” Jeonghan spoke up, pointing his fork at Jonghyun. He glanced up, and cocked his head in a silent question. “A little birdie told me you’re leaving Seoul.”
Jonghyun’s expression smoothed with fluidity that unnerved Minhyun. His stomach bottomed out, but he couldn’t rip his eyes from him. “Really? Who?”
Jeonghan laughed. “If I told you, then they wouldn’t be such a little birdie! But were they right? I like my informants to, you know, be informed.”
Jonghyun took a sip of his drink before replying. “They’re right. I just got the notice from the heads last night. It’s nothing in my control, of course.”
Dongho shifted in his chair before answering. His smile was sympathetic, but thin. “That’s a pity. We’ll all miss you.”
Minhyun drew himself up, and there was a scraping noise as his fork hit the table. He forced his mouth into a smile, but it was nothing but a formality. “I need to use the restroom, sorry.”
His legs moved of their own accord, and he nearly tripped over himself in his hurry. His lungs constricted painfully, each breath harder than the last. Minhyun locked the stall door behind him before he could breathe.
Questions were running through his brain, but he couldn’t answer any of them. He felt pitifully helpless, watching himself fall to pieces and unable to pick himself back up.
Ask him to stay, some voice urged him, and he bit back a harsh laugh.
It would be so easy to ask him to stay—but it would’ve been easier not to begin this at all.
—
When Minhyun returned, there was something glassy about his eyes that sent a pang through Jonghyun’s chest. This is for the better, he thought. But he didn’t believe himself.
“Are you two going long distance?” Dongho asked, not unkindly and yet it held a biting note. Minhyun looked at him, and there was a question in his eyes—a question, an accusation, a plea—and Jonghyun couldn’t bear it.
“Of course,” he said, and he was breathless for some reason. Minhyun turned his gaze away from him and aimlessly stirred his water.
“Long distance is hard,” Jeonghan spoke up, looking up from his phone. “If there’s no trust, then it falls apart.”
Dongho hit his shoulder and smiled at them. “I’m sure you two will do fine. When are you leaving?”
“Next Monday,” Jonghyun replied, glancing at Minhyun involuntarily. He didn’t look up from his phone.
Minhyun typed something out rapidly, and watched for the response. A couple seconds later, he switched it off and slid it back into his pocket. He looked up and smiled at the other couple, offering Jonghyun a cursory glance. “Something’s come up. I’ll see you all later?”
After the chorus of farewells, Minhyun slid out of the booth and walked out of the restaurant. Jonghyun couldn’t pull his eyes away from him, some dark mixture of regret and fear rising in his throat.
“Well.” Dongho said. Jonghyun looked back at him, but he was staring at the empty spot beside him. When he locked eyes with him, his gaze was steely. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Jonghyun-ah.”
Jonghyun opened his mouth to retort, but nothing came out. Finally, he said, “I hope so, too.”
—
When Minhyun got home that night, there was an email from Joshua.
FROM: HONG JISOO
SUBJECT: JONGHYUN’S FAREWELL PARTY!!!!!
Hello all,
So since our Jonghyun is leaving for Busan next Monday, I was thinking we should have a party to celebrate all that he’s done for us! It’s a bit last minute, but he said that he’ll be packing all weekend, so let’s have it tomorrow! I’ll leave a link for sign ups, everyone please try to bring at least one thing! Let’s have a good time and send him off well!!!!!!
Regards,
Joshua Hong
Usually, Minhyun found his overuse of exclamation marks endearing, but right now it gave him a headache. He put himself down for plastic cups before closing the laptop and placing it on his collapsed table. He laid down on his couch, unaware that Jaehwan had walked in until he tentatively put his hand against Minhyun’s forehead.
“You’re not sick,” he said, frowning. Minhyun blinked at him, too sluggish to form a response. He folded his arms. “What’s wrong?”
Minhyun shook his head and returned to staring at the ceiling. Jaehwan sighed and laid down next to him, poking him in the side until he looked over. He repeated, “What’s wrong?”
Minhyun looked back up. “I got attached.”
“Relatable,” Jaehwan replied. “What’s the issue?”
He scowled. “I got attached and he’s leaving. That’s the issue.”
“Jonghyun?” Minhyun grunted in agreement and Jaehwan blew out a sigh. “Is he leaving because of you?”
Minhyun shrugged. “I don’t think so. But it’s next Monday.”
He whistled. “That’s cutting it close. But it’s nothing in your control, right?”
“Yeah,” he whispered.
They laid in companionable silence for a bit, and then Jaehwan said, “You could always ask him to stay.”
Minhyun smiled but there was no humor in it. “He wouldn’t stay for me.”
“I would stay for you,” Jaehwan cut in. “Don’t half ass this. Don’t break your own heart.”
“It’s his job, or me,” Minhyun said hopelessly. “I’m nothing worth staying behind for. Not to him.”
Jaehwan exhaled, and took Minhyun’s hand in his, rubbing circles on his palm with his thumb. “I know you won't listen to me about this but... Well, just think about it.”
—
The next day, Minhyun came in to work two hours late. The blinds on Jonghyun’s office were pulled shut, and Joshua was hanging streamers from the office lights. Minghao and Soonyoung were arguing about decorations, and the interns were missing, excluding Hansol, who was taking a nap behind the paper crates.
“You’re late,” Nayoung said, when he settled in. A note of surprise was evident in her voice. “You haven’t been late in a while. I thought you might get employee of the year.”
“Change is a façade,” Minhyun said gloomily as he pulled out his plastic cups. “We’re all fated to return to who we used to be.”
“I see,” Nayoung replied, eyes still glued to her screen. “I brought napkins if you want to cry. Jieqiong says my shoulder is good to cry on.”
Minhyun doubted Jieqiong’s reliability on this matter, but he said, “I’ll keep it in mind. Thanks. Where’s Jonghyun?”
Nayoung shrugged. “He hasn’t been out all morning. It must be messy to tie up all his loose threads in less than a week. They really should’ve given him more time to prepare for this.”
Minhyun glanced back at the shut door, the closed blinds. He didn’t end up coming out the entire morning. At half past noon, Minhyun went up and heated up ramen. He knocked on the door carefully. There was no response, so he knocked again. The second time around, a soft ‘come in’ sounded from inside.
There was nothing detectably wrong about Jonghyun’s expression, but Minhyun’s chest expanded uncomfortably as he placed the bowl on his desk and took a seat beside him. Jonghyun looked up, then, little recognition nor surprise visible in his eyes. Minhyun cleared his throat. “Have you eaten yet?”
Jonghyun shook his head, and finished typing something out before cracking his fingers. “I’m not very hungry.”
Minhyun couldn’t help but scoff. “Like that’s a proper excuse.”
Jonghyun didn’t answer. His fingers moved with purpose, but there was a slight tremor in their movements. Minhyun nudged the bowl closer to him and Jonghyun glanced at it again. “I’ll eat it, if you want.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
That was the second lie Jonghyun told him.
—
After hours of painstaking work on Joshua’s part and vague disinterest on everyone else’s, setup for the party was finally done. Minhyun glanced at the clock – it was nearing six, and he’d barely done anything the entire day. But he’d leave his rotting self-discipline for the next manager to fix.
Joshua knocked on Jonghyun’s door. “When do you want to get the party started?”
“Please never say those words in that order ever again,” Jihoon said.
Joshua crossed his arms. “You’re just upset again because I said I have more swag than you.”
Minghao whistled. “I’m going to have to wash out my ears with bleach. Anyone want some?”
“I’ll take a cup,” Jihoon called.
Jonghyun opened the door and poked his head out. “No.”
After this, he shut the door again, leaving everyone staring at the spot that he had just vacated. Minghao sat down and Jihoon switched on his laptop again. Joshua took a tentative seat and pulled out his phone.
Some thirty minutes after that, a knock came at the door to their floor. An aggravated looking delivery man, or rather a delivery boy, was carrying a larger than life cake in his barely capable hands. His name tag read out Ahn Hyungseob in embellished black block letters.
Minhyun helped him place it onto the large table they’d centered amidst the cubicles. It slid onto the surface precariously, and the boy exhaled a long sigh of relief when it was out of his hands. He patted his hands on his pants and pulled the receipt from his pocket before rattling off the order. “One super deluxe chocolate vanilla ice cream cake for a Hong Jisoo?”
Joshua smiled and handed him the money. “Have a nice day!”
The boy muttered something like ‘now that this is done I will’ and left quickly. Joshua looked at the cake sadly. “It’s going to melt soon, but I don’t want to anger him. It’s his last day, you know?”
“A relatable sentiment,” Wonwoo agreed.
“If only we had someone who could convince him to leave without treading on his toes,” Kyungwon added gloomily.
“If only,” Nayoung repeated, staring at Minhyun.
“Why are you looking at me?” he asked, as everyone began to turn their gazes toward him. “Why me?”
“Because he thinks the sun shines out of your perfect ass,” Jihoon replied without looking up from his computer.
Minhyun scoffed. “Really—“
“Pretty much,” Soonyoung agreed.
“Well put,” Jieqiong said.
Minhyun scowled before turning towards Jonghyun’s office. “I hate all of you.”
Joshua smiled at him. “Thank you!”
Minhyun opened the door to find Jonghyun packing up. He looked up and smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “This place isn’t soundproof, you know.”
“Oh,” Minhyun said. “Sorry?”
Jonghyun shrugged. “I was just about done anyway. The cake sounds good.”
“It does,” Minhyun said. Words seemed to stick in his throat, but he swallowed and shut the door behind him.
Jonghyun came out a couple minutes later, a smile plastered on his face. Minhyun watched the festivities pass in a daze, as Jonghyun went around one by one and talked to every employee and intern. By the time he got to Minhyun, the cake was decimated, and the sun had long since set.
“Do you all really think we’re a thing?” Minhyun asked Nayoung offhandedly. She’d turned off her computer for once, and was watching the party with him, chewing on her cake thoughtfully.
“Aren’t you?” she asked, turning to look at him.
Minhyun’s heart skipped a beat. “I don’t know.”
“Oh,” she replied. “Well, I don’t know much about relationships. But if all you need is mutual interest and affection, then yeah, I do think you’re a thing, as you put it.”
“Thanks,” Minhyun said dejectedly, poking at his cake. “That’s nice of you to say.”
“Not really,” she said, taking another bite.
Minhyun opened his mouth to ask her what she meant, but Jonghyun’s voice appeared from beside him. “Minhyun?”
“Who’s videotaping this time?” Kyungwon whispered to Jieqiong, and she hit her shoulder.
Minhyun glanced up at Jonghyun, and his eyes were glittering with mirth. There was something nostalgic and beautiful about that, and Minhyun suddenly longed for a time he didn’t know he’d left.
“You wanna go somewhere private?” Jonghyun asked in a low voice, and Minhyun nodded.
They decided on the hall between the office room and the elevator. It was dim, the only source of light the old light bulbs of the elevator and the moonlight streaming through the half open window. The cold winter air and stale, stagnant air of the hall mixed uncomfortably.
Minhyun leaned against the windowsill. “I bet they’re still recording us.”
Jonghyun grinned, but it was too sharp. “Like we could truly get away from them.”
Minhyun sighed. “Is this real to you?”
Jonghyun stilled, but his eyes were fixed on the lights of Seoul. “What defines real?”
He tilted his head, and the breeze tousled his hair slightly. “Genuine. Something worth holding onto.”
“It’s a fake relationship, Minhyun-ah,” Jonghyun replied, and his voice was so quiet it was almost inaudible.
“That’s not what I mean,” he responded.
Jonghyun exhaled, and it spiraled in the dry air. Snowfall was near, and there was something carefully restrained about the dark of the night, like a breath held so long it hurt. He turned to look at him then, and his eyes were dark, but unreadable. “Is there anything you want to say, Minhyun?”
Minhyun’s heart stopped for a split second, and he forced himself to look away. What he wanted to say—that was something he could never possibly say. There was something so unspeakable about it, something so sacred about it. It demanded trust—it demanded intimacy, and a level of commitment that made Minhyun’s chest constrict.
He wanted to say, I don’t want you to go yet.
He wanted to say, This isn’t fake.
He wanted to say, Stay.
He said, “It’s not… It’s not important. But promise me one thing.”
Jonghyun nodded, but his eyes were unfocused. “Sure.”
“Take care of yourself,” Minhyun said, and his voice was barely more than a whisper. Jonghyun was turned away, and half his face was cast in moonlight, the other in shadow.
A beat of silence passed, and then: “I will.”
That was the third lie Jonghyun told him.