As most nights went, Minho sat alone in the living room.
After a long, exhausting day, he was drained as well.
He had his friends, his group—his own circle of people. But what he longed for was far from that.
He hoped Chan would come home early tonight.
There was nothing special about this night, really. Just a faint, foolish hope.
But as the hours dragged on, he realized he had been chasing a mirage.
With a sigh of resignation, he left the living room and climbed into their bed.
Curling up, he pulled the blanket over his head, shutting the world out.
When you've been alone for too long, when longing gnaws at your chest—
Nothing good ever comes of it.
Minho didn't feel secure. He didn't feel okay.
Chan always told him how much he mattered. Then why didn't he long for him the same way?
Doubt had too many cracks to slip through.
"What was I even expecting? It's not like he'd drop everything for me."
. . .
"Baby."
A voice called him. Faint at first, distant.
Soft touches, the warmth of lips grazing his cheek, his neck.
Minho groaned, shifting to push away the disturbance.
"At least let me hold you. You know I can't sleep without you close."
The voice was clearer now. The touch was real.
Blinking his eyes open, he found himself staring at Chan's figure beside him.
"Chan."
"Sweetheart, I'm sorry for waking you up."
Chan pulled him closer, burying his face into Minho's neck.
"I'm addicted to your scent, baby."
Minho hummed sleepily.
"Are you mad?"
"No."
"I'm sorry. I had too much to finish today."
"I told you, it's fine. Work is more important."
"No, it's not. You're more important, baby."
"Let's just sleep. I'm tired."
. . .
"Everything's ready."
Minho took in the scene before him.
He had so many plans for tonight, and the first was the dinner he had painstakingly prepared for his lover.
Glancing at his phone again, he saw the same single check mark next to his message. Chan hadn't read it yet.
Tick, tick, tick...
He watched the clock hands spin round and round.
He tried to keep himself busy, away from them.
He had chewed all his nails down, played his favorite anime, tidied everything in sight—
But there was still no sign of him.
Sighing in defeat, he stood up, his heart weary from waiting.
There were no excuses left.
"I'm done."
. . .
"No, no, I really have to go."
Chan refused as his friends urged him to stay longer.
He rushed out, realizing only too late that he had missed Minho's message.
With a bouquet of peonies in one hand and a box of donuts in the other, he stormed into the building and raced up to the second floor.
"Minho!"
He froze at the sight of his lover standing outside their apartment.
"I'm going to my parents' place."
"What? Why? Did something happen?"
"There's nothing wrong with them, Chan."
Minho's voice was calm. Too calm.
"I've just had enough. I can't keep doing this."
"You'll find the keys on the table, next to the vase."
"What keys?"
Minho shook his head.
"No, no, no, Minho, please, wait—"
"I know it's my fault, I wasn't paying attention, I—"
"Excuses, excuses, excuses!"
Minho laughed bitterly.
"You won't change, Chan."
"You just can't."
Chan swallowed hard, the weight of guilt sinking deep into his chest.
Was that true?
Could he really never change?
. . .
442 words.
Baby, I'm never gonna give you up,
Never gonna let you down.