(for everyone) A Map That Leads to You [1/3]
For: everyone
Title: A Map That Leads to You
Pairing: Jongin/Xiumin; Side!Luhan/Chen
Word Count: ~20,000 words
Rating: R
Warnings:: Kim Jongdae; mild swearing
Summary: There is always a map that leads you back onto the right path.
Author's Note: My dear recipient, you hereby have permission to hit me over the head with a brick stone, because this is probably not what you had original in mind when you wrote your prompts (which were all lovely btw). This is the result of Maroon 5's "Maps", long, lonely nights and a bottle of too much Jongdae. Nevertheless I hope you enjoy the read and thanks to A without who I would have never been able to submit this fic and D for being my personal cheerleader as per usual =)
Minseok sees the outside world drift by through the thin glass of the subway. The seat isn’t really comfortable, but it’s warm inside the vehicle in comparison to the chilly autumn weather. Still, despite the cold, Minseok enjoys the rustling of the leaves under his black, leather shoes when he takes his time to walk to work. The trees are so colorful and alive, branches trembling in warning that soon they will shed their last leaves to announce the arrival of winter.
Minseok rests his head against the cold surface and closes his eyes. He's never been much of a morning person (which is why his assistant will already have prepared a whole can of coffee for him when Minseok arrives at the law firm- his current place of employment). Some students who are sitting across from him are rather cheerful for such an ungodly hour, excitedly discussing their new classes and subjects of the new semester.
Minseok clutches his brown, leather briefcase closer to his chest, trying to concentrate on the case he’ll be working on over the next few weeks, but his mind keeps wandering off to better days.
The season is to blame. Minseok hates autumn, hates how it always seems to force color into his perfectly grey themed life, how it reminds him of chocolate brown eyes and long walks through the park. He hates how it reminds him of the fact that the person he loved the most just walked out on him one sunny autumn morning.
Kim Jongin, the boy who probably still resembles this ever changing season: colorful, bright, and yet fading.
But autumn is coming to an end soon.
Minseok likes to think that they had it all back then. They lived on the second floor of a small house where the kind, elderly woman who owned the property would cook for them on the weekends when neither of them had anywhere else to go. Minseok worked a job from nine to five in a small law firm. Jongin was in his last year of university.
They didn't have much since Minseok had only just started his profession as a lawyer, yet Minseok found all his happiness in Jongin coming home, wrapping his arms around him in a tender back-hug. He'd kiss his cheek and eye whatever Minseok prepared for dinner, humming in appreciation before whining over yet another report that was due the next week. With him, Minseok was happy.
Jongin is younger than him by four years, a dancer whose passion burns inside of him just like fire, a new form of inspiration that makes Minseok feel alive again after he'd been locked up in the same boring routine for years. Meeting Jongin was comparable to a bucket of mixed colors being carelessly splashed against a white wall. They met at a party of their mutual friend Jongdae, and while Minseok had only regarded Jongin with distant, if not cold, glances, Jongin immediately invaded his personal space as if he had always belonged there, pressed up against Minseok’s broad chest.
There's something about Jongin that has had Minseok addicted to him from the first second he saw him. It might be the way Jongin didn’t break eye contact when Minseok had caught him staring at him from across the room. It might be his gaze itself: a pair of dark, curious eyes that managed to bore their way through Minseok’s thick skin.
Minseok compares their relationship to the best of the annual seasons. The way they had fallen in love is similar to an innocent bud slowly growing under the warm rays of sunlight during spring. The growing passion between burned hot like the sun's rays in summer had their skin slick with sweat, bodies melting together when they made love. Minseok remembers how he used his arms to shield Jongin from the cool evening breeze when they went to grab some take out from a small bistro that was right across the street on summer nights. He remembers the soft kisses they shared under a cloudless midnight sky, each press of lips just as bright as the stars.
It seemed like the perfect relationship, felt like the perfect relationship. It was the most idyllic life one could ask for, and yet what had seemed so perfect to Minseok who had seen Jongin as his missing puzzle piece, the one to complete him, had, as time passed, felt more and more like a withering leaf to Jongin.
During lonely nights when all he hears is the buzzing of a single mosquito, Minseok blames himself for not noticing how Jongin had become so distant, how gradually he came to avoid any physical contact like holding hands in public areas. Instead, Minseok used Jongin’s busy schedule or his mood swings as an excuse for his boyfriend’s odd behavior and didn’t push the topic any further, leaving the need to talk about it with Jongin ignored.
Minseok thinks with clenched fists that he should have paid more attention to the signs and fought against the inevitable, but all he did was watch the leaves drift away, completely out of his reach before he even noticed. The first snow started to turn the city into different shades of white and grey, and Minseok had no more color to hold onto.
Plain and boring.
It's been a year since Minseok woke up to a cold, empty spot next to him. A crumpled note was all Jongin had left behind.
He could have run after Jongin- should have convinced him to stay or at least talk things over, but Minseok has never been much of a fighter. No matter how much Jongin meant to him, he chose to blame destiny and made up countless excuses as to why their relationship hadn't been as perfect as it seemed, as it felt.
Deep down, Minseok is well aware that there is no excuse, that the fact of the matter is that he always took Jongin for granted. Surely he had been there for Jongin's up and downs, had picked him up whenever he fell down. Surely he had whispered encouraging words into his ear before they fell asleep each night, legs entangled under their warm, white sheets. However, as him if he had he ever paid attention to Jongin's dreams outside of their relationship.
Minseok isn't sure, so he doesn't question it further. He doesn't have an answer, only heartache.
The road of two people that was once entwined but later split up is doomed to not meet again just like perpendicular lines. Minseok isn't sure if he is emotionally ready to stand face to face with Jongin again. The scar he left by leaving him without a single word of goodbye- only a mere 'take care' scribbled on a scrunched up piece of paper that witnessed hot tears stream down his cheeks before he tore it into pieces along with the evidence of his tears- wasn't a scar that could so easily be fixed. How dare Jongin end a relationship that had felt so right in that manner? Was Minseok really unworthy of a sincere farewell?
Don't give up on us. The plea keeps lingering on the tip of his tongue but in the end Minseok doesn't call Jongin nor does he try to track his steps. He stays, and the winter stream washes the last of the leaves away.
As time passes not many things change. Minseok moves into a smaller apartment despite the elderly lady asking him to stay. He lands a higher position as a specialized lawyer at a well known law firm, his pay check gaining a few zeros. That's all there is to it, though. He is still working from nine to five during the week and keeps his weekends free. Sometimes he'll still visit the old lady of his previous apartment, and from time to time he still accidentally fixes dinner as if he was cooking for two people instead of one.
It is clearly not his mind but his heart that does not want to realize that there is no us, no couple, no two, no pair anymore whenever he starts chopping up the vegetables or the meat to toss into his frying pan.
When the night comes, however, it is his mind that plays tricks on him. He falls prey to countless dreams in which Jongin plays the main role, dancing in autumn leaves, and no matter if his eyes are closed or wide open, Minseok drifts off in one of his bitter-sweet dreams that feel more like memories to him. At work he feels just how alone he is, and he wonders if he's not actually caught in a nightmare.
People at work think that Minseok has it all. He has yet to lose a single case since he started working at the company. There's his cushy bank account, his charm, his being desired by men and women all around him to invite jealous stares. Even Minseok has to admit that, to the strangers who he refuses to call friends, he really does seem to have it all. He is the epitome of every poor college student's dream life. And yet Minseok is nothing more than an empty shell.
He functions like a robot in his colorless little world and only lives to be alive.
Every day is the same routine over and over again, to the point where Minseok loses track of the weekdays if he doesn't glance at his black planner on his desk or if Luhan, an overly talkative coworker and self-proclaimed best friend, doesn't drag him out for drinks. If he does, it must be a Friday night, and Minseok feels some sort of relief because he's reached the weekend.
And then he remembers that all of his weekend are spent alone.
Breakups aren't meant to be easy, yet Minseok thought that time would eventually fill the gap Jongin's absence has left in his life. But time has fixed nothing even after a whole year has passed.
Minseok still catches himself trailing his fingertips over the empty spot in his bed or throwing out leftovers because he has once again cooked twice the amount of food that he can eat by himself.
Minseok slowly walks over to open the window of his office. He takes in the spell of autumn, how it has colored the leaves in different shades of red and orange. The trees across from his office building are glowing in the afternoon sun, and Minseok takes a moment to appreciate their beauty because it won't last. Once winter comes, the city will be turned into a mixture of white and gray.
Plain, boring, and cold.
A soft knock resounds from his door, and the moment is shattered. Minseok inhales another breath of fresh air before turning around to call in whoever is asking to enter. He is unable suppress an annoyed groan when he is greeted by Luhan's shit-eating grin. He reflexively brings his hands to his temples. How does one even begin to describe the person that is Luhan? Minseok tends to go for "the man with the cherubic face which only serves to lure innocent interns into his little trap, swallowing them alive just to spit them out again the next day."
Luhan is a chatterbox, always in a good mood, always changing lovers like his bed sheets. He originally worked for their partner firm in China, but due to his outstanding skills and knowledge of the Korean language he's been granted a working visa and long term position at their office in Seoul.
It's impossible to dislike Luhan despite his man-eater status , especially since Luhan has discovered that the best way of getting on Minseok's good side is to buy him coffee in the morning, black- no sugar or cream. That doesn't make him any less annoying, however.
“What do you want, Luhan?”
Minseok walks back behind his desk and makes himself comfortable in his brown, leather armchair, attempting to play his superior card, but the moment Luhan flops himself down on top of his mahogany desk and completely ignores the files now squashed underneath his buttocks, does Minseok realizes that his position obviously doesn't instill fear in Luhan anymore.
“Just thought we could grab a drink tonight," Luhan says casually. "It's Friday, and I'd rather have you out with me than rotting away in your apartment.” He sniffs at Minseok. "Your aura says 'expired milk,' my friend." Minseok gives him an unimpressed look.
“Don't feel like it.”
“Come on!" Luhan whines. Minseok flinches. "Stop acting like your life only revolves around these pitiful souls we call clients. These tricksters who fool you into believing in their innocence so that you'll save their sorry asses from years in the slammer."
"They pay me," Minseok argues. Luhan crosses his arms in front of his rather firm chest and tries to pull his usual kicked puppy look on Minseok. He raises one eyebrow at Luhan and waves a hand in dismissal. Luhan's pout gets bigger, but Minseok's gaze lands on a small, brown envelope with a red wax seal in his friend's hands. Before Luhan even has the time to blink, Minseok snatches it out of his grasp.
"Hey!" Luhan protests, but Minseok is up out of his chair, keeping the envelope out of Luhan's reach. It's addressed to him, and his brows furrow in concern when he reads the return address.
It's from the old lady who owns the house he used to live in together with Jongin. In the background, Luhan starts listing countless reasons why Minseok should accompany him to this dope bar he stumbled across the other day, but Minseok doesn't pay his friend any mind as he carefully opens the envelope and unfolds a white letter.
It's handwritten, blue ink stains mark the upper edge, and ink blots are scattered among the gentle loops of the woman's writing. His gaze lingers over every line, swallowing every word and integer that the letter contains. When he reaches the bottom line, Minseok feels the familiar burn in his eyes, and he presses the heel of his right hand over his eyelids, trying to swallow the lump now lodged in his throat.
Luhan's ramble has come to an end, and even without looking at his friend, Minseok knows he is probably tilting his head in confusion.
“Let's grab that drink," Minseok says in lieu of an explanation. "I think I might need it after all.”
Luhan doesn't question the sudden change, just shrugs and hops off of Minseok's desk. He's well aware that Minseok isn't the type of man who easily talks about his feelings or private life. He does the only thing that feels appropriate and pats Minseok's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze.
“I'll meet you in the lobby then? In about an hour?”
Minseok is still staring at the letter, but he nods his head absentmindedly. The door closes with a soft click, and with it, another window in Minseok's heart does as well. He stares at the lost possibility, forever moving along without him behind the glass just like brown leaves taken away by the winter wind.
Three hours later sees Minseok slumped over the bar of the club, nursing his third beer in unfeeling hands as he and Luhan listen to the band playing a slow song in the background. Luhan is quietly watching him, shoving a bowl of chips in Minseok's direction.
"Hey man, alcohol makes you hungry," he says by way of explanation, hiding his concern behind an obnoxious wink. Minseok mutters his thanks and turns his attention to the dancing crowd. They're swaying is sensual and slow, rocking in time with the music and the dim flicker of the stage lights. The bar smells like cigarettes and alcohol, but Minseok is way past the point of caring anymore. The chips taste like ash and salt, but Minseok swallows another handful before tossing back the rest of his beer.
Flashing lights illuminate the faces in the crowd in different colors for mere seconds before
flying off into different directions again. Minseok stares at the dark areas where the color doesn't reach, where he doesn't feel the memories starting to rise up in the edges of his psyche.
Minseok and Luhan only arrived and hour and thirty minutes ago, and yet neither of them has started a full conversation. For this, Minseok is grateful. He reaches out for another tequila shot, downing it in one go and enjoying the feeling of the burning sensation as the liquid runs down his throat, emitting a fire inside of him, making him feel something.
Alcohol loosens his tongue, clouds his mind, and brings out all these suffocating emotions he keeps locked up inside a heavily locked chest. Maybe he is just using the alcohol as excuse to finally open up, share the pain with someone who isn’t his reflection in the mirror or pillow at night.
He wonders if Luhan is even able to understand him between all the slurred lines and background noises but once he starts talking, the words tumble out of his mouth like a stream of water.
He tells Luhan about a young man named Jongin, a passionate dancer, college student, and the person who left Minseok to become the closed up person Luhan met half a year ago. Minseok thinks it must be hard for his coworker to imagine that the guy in front of him used to own a smile that actually reached his eyes, used to hold a person in his arms like tomorrow would never be, used to love the colors of autumn. As Minseok rambles, he realizes that Luhan has never met the real him until this very moment. He thinks even he himself hasn't seen his real character for a very long time.
Minseok teaches Luhan about the small house and the elderly lady with the warm smile that sometimes cooked for him and Jongin, the adoration Minseok felt for Jongin, how his boyfriend’s sudden departure killed him like winter through the branches of the trees, dead bark bare without leaves.
When Luhan asks about the reason for Jongin’s departure, he is told about bitter regret but also confusion. The truth weighs on the edges of his mind, but Minseok is not ready to face the reason for the end of their relationship buried deep inside his heart. He's not ready to open that window and feel the winter air on his skin and taste the bitter, dry air.
“Everything changes," Minseok murmurs. "People. Places. Seasons. There was nothing I could have done but I wanted us to last.” Minseok raises a hand, holding it up and smiling sadly at the silver ring that faintly flashes in the dim light. "I still hope we can last. And it's already over."
His hand falls down to his chest, pressing over the spot where his heart lies beneath his ribcage, hissing at the feeling of each painful beat, the sensation similar to ice tearing into him, stopping his blood like a frozen stream.
“What if. The two words I replay in my head over and over again for nothing," Minseok continues. "My ears are going to bleed if I hear that spoken out loud but I can't fucking stop saying it to myself!" Luhan watches as Minseok's shoulders shake, watches his eyes fill with tears, watches him swallow another shot, and Minseok knows he looks just as pathetic as he feels. He buries his face in his hands.
“The letter you brought in earlier," he breathes between agitated hiccups. "A will. A fucking will, Luhan!” He slams his fist down onto the bar, and the ache in his hand is at least something to concentrate on. Luhan brings one hand up as if he were going to press a comforting hand to Minseok's back, but he lowers it, face troubled as he tries to somehow expresses his sympathy.
“...Jongin?” He asks carefully, and Minseok grimaces in pain before he shakes his head.
“No, not him," Minseok says, and the note of relief in his voice both surprises and sickens him. "My old landlady. She’s been sick, and I was aware of it but I-." He bites his lip hard for a moment. "After Jongin left, I. I just couldn’t stay. I-” He chokes on the last few words, but already the winter wind is whispering them in his ears. I did the thing I do best: bolt without looking back.
The admission, despite being mental, drags up other thoughts- thoughts about how many nights Minseok has spent lying awake with a broken heart, wondering where Jongin was in that exact same moment. He thinks about Jongin lying in the arms of another man, laughing and fooling around in the living room of some other apartment like they used to do in during the weekends. It hurts. It hurts so much that there are days that Minseok doesn’t find sleep until the sun is already creeping through the blinds.
Luhan digs around in his back pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarette, placing one thin stick between his lips and lightening it with his red lightener. He takes a deep drag, and Minseok watches how his chest expands with the smoke. He wonders if he should stop now, if Luhan is too stressed over Minseok's sorrow. He mutters some sort of apology- Minseok's sadness is not his friend's to ponder. Luhan waves it off and offers Minseok a cigarette. He looks a bit surprised when Minseok snatches the one from Luhan's mouth, wrapping his lips around the filter for one inhale before he passes it back, ignoring the throbbing in his temples.
“What’d did it say?" Luhan asks gently. "The will, I mean.” Minseok focuses on anything but the image of the splotchy ink, forcing himself to meet Luhan's eyes. Eyes are the mirror of a person’s soul, a mirror that Minseok has successfully kept out of Luhan’s sight and only now that he offers him a glimpse does Minsoek realize how empty he is. Luhan might not have been ready to see the past that Minseok has kept from him, but the care in Luhan's eyes is enough to assure him that Minseok is not speaking to ears trapped in summer bliss.
“She wants to give me the house," Minseok explains. Luhan's squeezes his knee. "Well. Not. Not me. Us. She. Wants to give it to us." He exhales shakily, his last words dying in a dry cough. Luhan is quick to rub his friend’s back but not without a small smile tugging on his lips.
“You shouldn’t smoke if you aren’t used to it," he says. Minseok hears what he means. You don't have to tell me.
“Shut up.” Minseok throws back, and the atmosphere lightens a little bit. He snatches Luhan's cigarette from him again and draws the ash tray closer, taking one last drag before he dumps the rest of the cigarette inside.
“In the will- well. The letter- she told me to look for Jongin. She said I'm a fool for having let him slip through my fingers." He stops with a wry smile. "She said that people were meant to be. Watching us, me and Jongin- that's the reason she kept living. Or so she said." And Luhan must hear something in his voice, because suddenly all of his focus is very bright, and the monochrome of Minseok's world is tainted by a little bit of green.
“You are going to search for him, right?” Luhan leans back, and it's weird. Minseok almost feels like knocking him down, like playing a joke again. He thinks Luhan has become some sort of therapist, or maybe Minseok was just simply too caught up in his loneliness.
“I don’t know. He was the one who left, so-"
Luhan huffs, unimpressed. Minseok knocks his shoulder against him in retaliation and nearly sends his friend toppling to the floor. He laughs, and it feels good.. Luhan rights himself, and points a finger in Minseok's face.
“Stop. Go after him." His demand is met with shocked silence from Minseok. "You sound like a teenage girl. Blaming everyone but yourself for you being dumped." He steps closer. "It's a two-way street, Minseok. It's obvious that you are partly to blame for him leaving. Man up, and go after him." His words sting, but Luhan is right. Minseok knows it. He has to stop pretending, stop living in his delusion and face the past hurt that he's been running from. It's time for winter to end.
“Handsome here is right. Grow some balls, and fix shit.”
Luhan and Minseok’s heads snap around, surprised by the sudden intruder daring to butt into their rather private conversation. Though, Minseok thinks, a conversation in a crowded bar on a Friday night really has no business being private.
Luhan narrows his eyes at the man who is mischievously grinning at them from behind the counter, and Minseok can feel the corner of his mouth beginning to twitch. The bartender's dark brown hair falls into his face, creating a rather stunning contrast between his pale skin and the shadows cast by his high cheekbones. Luhan swallows, and Minseok can't stop himself from smirking. He catches the bartender's eye, watches the man's lips curl up in a feline manner, and he knows that Luhan will not be going home alone.
The bartender winks at Minseok, and recognition crashes into him with all the force of Luhan's knuckles digging into his ribs, whispering 'don't touch, I want him' out of the corner of his mouth. Minseok snorts. They must have been so immersed in their own little world that they didn’t notice the bartenders swift shifts.
"Jongdae?” Next to him, Luhan is now muttering something that sounds suspiciously like "ridiculously handsome bartender" and Minseok wonders just what about Jongdae has Luhan so worked up. He knows exactly why he's worked up, but a history with Jongin means a history with Jongdae, so it's understandable. Jongdae, or "ridiculously handsome bartender" if Luhan's whispering is to be given any merit, tilts his head to the side, scowling at Minseok reproachfully.
“Yeah, it’s been awhile, asshole," Jongdae says. His voice is pleasant even his words are not. "Can't say I missed you much after you broke my baby Nini’s heart.” Jongdae grits his teeth, and Minseok can feels himself shrinking back, folding in on himself under the bartender's harsh glare.
“That’s not the right manner to talk to a customer now, is it?” Minseok glances to the side where Luhan has one eyebrow raised and his index finger tapping on the bar. Minseok is grateful for Luhan drawing Jongdae's attention to himself. The bartender and Luhan stare at each other, and Minseok swears the tension between them is thicker than molasses. Jongdae's adam's apple bobs with his swallow as he gives Luhan a once over before a cocky smirk spreads across his face.
“Look gorgeous, if I wanted your opinion, I’d bend you over the counter and fuck it out of you," Jongdae says, voice wicked. "But that’s not the case tonight.” Jongdae winks at Luhan, and Minseok would venture to say that his friend looks both dumbstruck and halfway to disappointed, choking on his own tongue. A scandalized scoff is all Luhan manages in return.
Minseok fights off the urge to bang his head against the counter for not paying more attention to the name of the bar when they came in earlier and paying too much attention to the exchange between Jongdae and Luhan. It's disgusting. He had successfully avoided coming in here for the last few months only to have fate laughing at his face tonight. Of all the people he could have encountered within the past year, Jongdae was one of the top names on his “must avoid at all costs” list.
Speak, or think, of the devil and his attention will return to you, Minseok thinks dryly as Jongdae turns back to him.
“Listen up, Minseok," Jongdae snaps. "I don't give a shit about your principles. As both Jongin’s friend and your old friend, I’m telling you to get down to god damn business and fix the mess your ignorance made." Jongdae hovers threateningly over the counter, and Minseok has a hard time keeping eye contact.
“Old friend?!” Luhan squawks before quickly slapping both of his hands over his lips, cheeks reddening over the sound he just produced.
Jongdae darts his tongue out and wets his lips, reaching out suddenly, trapping Luhan’s chin in a tight grip. He leans forward, forcing Luhan to angle his head, and Minseok almost gags. Does he have to be so obscene?
“He’s kinda cute Minseok," Jongdae muses. "It's too bad I have to waste my precious time on you or else-" He cuts himself off, but the intention behind his words and the heated gaze he's focused on Luhan are rather clear.
“You are at work-" Minseok tries to cut in, clearing his throat. He shuts his mouth instantly when he receives a warning glare.
“Or else I would take your friend here for a ride he’d never forget.”
Jongdae’s voice is so low, and Minseok swears he can see Luhan shivering. Minseok gets it: Luhan is a rather promiscuous guy, and Jongdae is admittedly very handsome. Then again, leaning in close enough to be almost kissing does tend to throw just about anyone, no matter how lustful of a person, into a bit of a stunned state.
“Stop that!” Minseok hisses, feeling a hell of a lot more sober since he's stopped continuously sipping on his drinks. This time, he holds the glare Jongdae sends him over his shoulder. His old friend finally lets go of a rather disgruntled looking Luhan and puts his attention back on Minseok- but not before throwing Luhan another knowing smirk.
Minseok gathers his courage, grips the counter.
"Do you know where he is?" It isn’t necessary to say Jongin’s name out loud; they both know who he is, yet Jongdae crosses his arms in front of his chest as if he's expecting Minseok to say something more.
“Who?" Jongdae asks, leaning forward. "Oh. You mean...Jongin?” Jongdae emphasizes the name, and Minseok has to keep himself from smacking Jongdae over the head. The other is younger than him after all - not that age or rank has ever mattered to Jongdae. He nods. Yes, he means Jongin.
“Yeah, I do.” Jongdae continues. At Minseok's expectant gaze, he snorts. "And just where is the fun if I just tell you?” Minseok curses softly under his breath.
“What do you want, Jongdae?” After all these years Minseok knows better than to argue with Jongdae, the guy is way too thick skinned to be lectured. Unfortunately, playing his games is the only way to get through to him.
“Go home, sober up," Jongdae orders. "I might consider having you buy me breakfast tomorrow morning.” Jongdae’s mood suddenly takes a complete turn, and he chirps out the last words so that poor Luhan ends up choking on his beer.
“How old are you anyways?” Luhan tries to ask, but his mouth snaps shut like a submissive puppy the moment Jongdae shortens the space between them. Minseok sighs.
"I think you're the one who needs an ID, my dear," Jongdae quips. "But I assure you I'm old enough to work in a club as a bartender and plenty old enough to hit on pretty things like you."
Minseok’s mind is running wild again. Jongdae is the one link that could help connect all the dots on the map he has drawn inside his mind. He's one of the puzzle pieces that could help him lead the way back to where he belonged. He's one of the leaves that once blew away. His teeth knead his bottom lip, a habit he took on whenever he is wracking his brain over a decision he can no longer avoid making.
“I don’t even deserve him.” The words leave his mouth before his mind has registered them, and when he sees the glint in Jongdae’s eyes, he regrets them right away.
“Yeah, you really don't,” he spits from behind the counter, fist tightening around a bottle of tequila he’d just picked up. "Unfortunately, Nini doesn't agree with me on that." Minseok feels light-headed.
“Jongin, then. D-does he-" Jongdae doesn't let Minseok finish, but Minseok isn't sure he could have completed the question anyway.
“Go home," Jongdae says. "Either we talk tomorrow, or you can stay and drown yourself in more self-pity for all I care.”
With that said, Jongdae simply turns on his heel and does his actual job. Luhan sputters a bit, and Minseok thinks maybe his friend forgot that Jongdae is here to serve drinks, not flirt with him. The bartender serves all customers except Minseok and Luhan though, and Luhan whines at Minseok about the "ridiculously handsome bartender" for the remaining time they're there.
Minseok urges Luhan to get up, telling him firmly that they're leaving despite the wobble in his step. Just as they get themselves organized, Jongdae's hand snatches Luhan's wrist and drags him in close.
“See you tomorrow, gorgeous.”
Jongdae then chuckles and walks down to the other end of the bar, and Luhan is frozen still. Minseok gets a grip on his shoulder, giving an exasperated sigh. Luhan only gets a grip of himself again when he feels Minseok's hand on his arm and blinks at him in surprise.
“Sorry about that," Minseok tells him sincerely. "And um. Thanks for tonight.”
Minseok gives Luhan’s arm another soft pat before he holds out his hand and hails the two of them a Taxi. He bashfully asks Luhan to join him for breakfast tomorrow once they're on their way to their respective neighborhoods. Luhan pinches his cheek, and Minseok suddenly come to the painful conclusion that tonight hasn’t been just an odd dream he is about to wake up from. Luhan makes some lewd comment about Jongdae, and Minseok thinks maybe it's better to be awake anyway. His hands feel warm, and the monochrome plus green world gains a little blue.
~*~
Jongdae stifles a yawn as he drags himself up the last steps to his small apartment, tiredly fishing in his jeans pocket for his keys and once again cursing his working hours as a bartender.
He unlocks the door, flinching at the sounds of the locks tumbling. He inwardly scolds himself for having to tiptoe in his own four walls, but the mere thought of waking up Jongin has him holding his breath as he passes the living room.
“Jongdae?” a sleep-rough voice breaks through the silence, and Jongdae’s shoulders slump in defeat.
“Why aren’t you sleeping, Jongin?” Jongdae slowly approaches the bundle of sheets and limbs curled up on his couch before lowering himself carefully to sit on the edge.
Jongin cutely rubs the back of his hand over his eyes before sending him a warm smile in the darkness. "Woke up because your neighbor started singing again." He scowls. "He should just give up on it already.” That makes Jongdae laugh, and he gently combs his fingers through Jongin’s hair before wagging his first finger in front of him,
“Let the man live out his dream," Jongdae scolds. "He's one of those office guys trapped inside an office and a suit for ten hours a day. Poor guy's got to release stress somehow.”
Jongdae doesn’t need to turn on the light to see that Jongin is pouting at him, and he leans down to ruffle through the younger’s hair.
“He's got no talent though.” Jongin mumbles under his breath as he shifts into a more comfortable position. It takes less than a minute before he has fallen into a deep slumber again.
Jongdae waits for another moment and just watches Jongin sleep. Little did he know that back when he introduced Jongin and Minseok to each other, their entwined roads would give both parties more pain than happiness.
He slowly straightens up and sighs, hands falling to his side and mind wandering off to the last words he has exchanged with the elderly lady before her passing,
“You are the one who brought them together, so I have faith in you being able to do it again," She had said. She jokingly added, "Use force if needed.”
Jongdae groans as he allows himself to fall into his soft sheets. He didn’t choose to play matchmaker, but what other choice does he have? As much as he loves Jongin, Jongdae would actually really love to get laid again, and preferably by Minseok's friend. Jongdae knows a loyal friend when he sees one, so he's better try his best and help Minseok fix things or he'll end up with singing to the shower head at four in the morning.
part two
Title: A Map That Leads to You
Pairing: Jongin/Xiumin; Side!Luhan/Chen
Word Count: ~20,000 words
Rating: R
Warnings:: Kim Jongdae; mild swearing
Summary: There is always a map that leads you back onto the right path.
Author's Note: My dear recipient, you hereby have permission to hit me over the head with a brick stone, because this is probably not what you had original in mind when you wrote your prompts (which were all lovely btw). This is the result of Maroon 5's "Maps", long, lonely nights and a bottle of too much Jongdae. Nevertheless I hope you enjoy the read and thanks to A without who I would have never been able to submit this fic and D for being my personal cheerleader as per usual =)
Minseok sees the outside world drift by through the thin glass of the subway. The seat isn’t really comfortable, but it’s warm inside the vehicle in comparison to the chilly autumn weather. Still, despite the cold, Minseok enjoys the rustling of the leaves under his black, leather shoes when he takes his time to walk to work. The trees are so colorful and alive, branches trembling in warning that soon they will shed their last leaves to announce the arrival of winter.
Minseok rests his head against the cold surface and closes his eyes. He's never been much of a morning person (which is why his assistant will already have prepared a whole can of coffee for him when Minseok arrives at the law firm- his current place of employment). Some students who are sitting across from him are rather cheerful for such an ungodly hour, excitedly discussing their new classes and subjects of the new semester.
Minseok clutches his brown, leather briefcase closer to his chest, trying to concentrate on the case he’ll be working on over the next few weeks, but his mind keeps wandering off to better days.
The season is to blame. Minseok hates autumn, hates how it always seems to force color into his perfectly grey themed life, how it reminds him of chocolate brown eyes and long walks through the park. He hates how it reminds him of the fact that the person he loved the most just walked out on him one sunny autumn morning.
Kim Jongin, the boy who probably still resembles this ever changing season: colorful, bright, and yet fading.
But autumn is coming to an end soon.
Minseok likes to think that they had it all back then. They lived on the second floor of a small house where the kind, elderly woman who owned the property would cook for them on the weekends when neither of them had anywhere else to go. Minseok worked a job from nine to five in a small law firm. Jongin was in his last year of university.
They didn't have much since Minseok had only just started his profession as a lawyer, yet Minseok found all his happiness in Jongin coming home, wrapping his arms around him in a tender back-hug. He'd kiss his cheek and eye whatever Minseok prepared for dinner, humming in appreciation before whining over yet another report that was due the next week. With him, Minseok was happy.
Jongin is younger than him by four years, a dancer whose passion burns inside of him just like fire, a new form of inspiration that makes Minseok feel alive again after he'd been locked up in the same boring routine for years. Meeting Jongin was comparable to a bucket of mixed colors being carelessly splashed against a white wall. They met at a party of their mutual friend Jongdae, and while Minseok had only regarded Jongin with distant, if not cold, glances, Jongin immediately invaded his personal space as if he had always belonged there, pressed up against Minseok’s broad chest.
There's something about Jongin that has had Minseok addicted to him from the first second he saw him. It might be the way Jongin didn’t break eye contact when Minseok had caught him staring at him from across the room. It might be his gaze itself: a pair of dark, curious eyes that managed to bore their way through Minseok’s thick skin.
Minseok compares their relationship to the best of the annual seasons. The way they had fallen in love is similar to an innocent bud slowly growing under the warm rays of sunlight during spring. The growing passion between burned hot like the sun's rays in summer had their skin slick with sweat, bodies melting together when they made love. Minseok remembers how he used his arms to shield Jongin from the cool evening breeze when they went to grab some take out from a small bistro that was right across the street on summer nights. He remembers the soft kisses they shared under a cloudless midnight sky, each press of lips just as bright as the stars.
It seemed like the perfect relationship, felt like the perfect relationship. It was the most idyllic life one could ask for, and yet what had seemed so perfect to Minseok who had seen Jongin as his missing puzzle piece, the one to complete him, had, as time passed, felt more and more like a withering leaf to Jongin.
During lonely nights when all he hears is the buzzing of a single mosquito, Minseok blames himself for not noticing how Jongin had become so distant, how gradually he came to avoid any physical contact like holding hands in public areas. Instead, Minseok used Jongin’s busy schedule or his mood swings as an excuse for his boyfriend’s odd behavior and didn’t push the topic any further, leaving the need to talk about it with Jongin ignored.
Minseok thinks with clenched fists that he should have paid more attention to the signs and fought against the inevitable, but all he did was watch the leaves drift away, completely out of his reach before he even noticed. The first snow started to turn the city into different shades of white and grey, and Minseok had no more color to hold onto.
Plain and boring.
It's been a year since Minseok woke up to a cold, empty spot next to him. A crumpled note was all Jongin had left behind.
He could have run after Jongin- should have convinced him to stay or at least talk things over, but Minseok has never been much of a fighter. No matter how much Jongin meant to him, he chose to blame destiny and made up countless excuses as to why their relationship hadn't been as perfect as it seemed, as it felt.
Deep down, Minseok is well aware that there is no excuse, that the fact of the matter is that he always took Jongin for granted. Surely he had been there for Jongin's up and downs, had picked him up whenever he fell down. Surely he had whispered encouraging words into his ear before they fell asleep each night, legs entangled under their warm, white sheets. However, as him if he had he ever paid attention to Jongin's dreams outside of their relationship.
Minseok isn't sure, so he doesn't question it further. He doesn't have an answer, only heartache.
The road of two people that was once entwined but later split up is doomed to not meet again just like perpendicular lines. Minseok isn't sure if he is emotionally ready to stand face to face with Jongin again. The scar he left by leaving him without a single word of goodbye- only a mere 'take care' scribbled on a scrunched up piece of paper that witnessed hot tears stream down his cheeks before he tore it into pieces along with the evidence of his tears- wasn't a scar that could so easily be fixed. How dare Jongin end a relationship that had felt so right in that manner? Was Minseok really unworthy of a sincere farewell?
Don't give up on us. The plea keeps lingering on the tip of his tongue but in the end Minseok doesn't call Jongin nor does he try to track his steps. He stays, and the winter stream washes the last of the leaves away.
As time passes not many things change. Minseok moves into a smaller apartment despite the elderly lady asking him to stay. He lands a higher position as a specialized lawyer at a well known law firm, his pay check gaining a few zeros. That's all there is to it, though. He is still working from nine to five during the week and keeps his weekends free. Sometimes he'll still visit the old lady of his previous apartment, and from time to time he still accidentally fixes dinner as if he was cooking for two people instead of one.
It is clearly not his mind but his heart that does not want to realize that there is no us, no couple, no two, no pair anymore whenever he starts chopping up the vegetables or the meat to toss into his frying pan.
When the night comes, however, it is his mind that plays tricks on him. He falls prey to countless dreams in which Jongin plays the main role, dancing in autumn leaves, and no matter if his eyes are closed or wide open, Minseok drifts off in one of his bitter-sweet dreams that feel more like memories to him. At work he feels just how alone he is, and he wonders if he's not actually caught in a nightmare.
People at work think that Minseok has it all. He has yet to lose a single case since he started working at the company. There's his cushy bank account, his charm, his being desired by men and women all around him to invite jealous stares. Even Minseok has to admit that, to the strangers who he refuses to call friends, he really does seem to have it all. He is the epitome of every poor college student's dream life. And yet Minseok is nothing more than an empty shell.
He functions like a robot in his colorless little world and only lives to be alive.
Every day is the same routine over and over again, to the point where Minseok loses track of the weekdays if he doesn't glance at his black planner on his desk or if Luhan, an overly talkative coworker and self-proclaimed best friend, doesn't drag him out for drinks. If he does, it must be a Friday night, and Minseok feels some sort of relief because he's reached the weekend.
And then he remembers that all of his weekend are spent alone.
Breakups aren't meant to be easy, yet Minseok thought that time would eventually fill the gap Jongin's absence has left in his life. But time has fixed nothing even after a whole year has passed.
Minseok still catches himself trailing his fingertips over the empty spot in his bed or throwing out leftovers because he has once again cooked twice the amount of food that he can eat by himself.
Minseok slowly walks over to open the window of his office. He takes in the spell of autumn, how it has colored the leaves in different shades of red and orange. The trees across from his office building are glowing in the afternoon sun, and Minseok takes a moment to appreciate their beauty because it won't last. Once winter comes, the city will be turned into a mixture of white and gray.
Plain, boring, and cold.
A soft knock resounds from his door, and the moment is shattered. Minseok inhales another breath of fresh air before turning around to call in whoever is asking to enter. He is unable suppress an annoyed groan when he is greeted by Luhan's shit-eating grin. He reflexively brings his hands to his temples. How does one even begin to describe the person that is Luhan? Minseok tends to go for "the man with the cherubic face which only serves to lure innocent interns into his little trap, swallowing them alive just to spit them out again the next day."
Luhan is a chatterbox, always in a good mood, always changing lovers like his bed sheets. He originally worked for their partner firm in China, but due to his outstanding skills and knowledge of the Korean language he's been granted a working visa and long term position at their office in Seoul.
It's impossible to dislike Luhan despite his man-eater status , especially since Luhan has discovered that the best way of getting on Minseok's good side is to buy him coffee in the morning, black- no sugar or cream. That doesn't make him any less annoying, however.
“What do you want, Luhan?”
Minseok walks back behind his desk and makes himself comfortable in his brown, leather armchair, attempting to play his superior card, but the moment Luhan flops himself down on top of his mahogany desk and completely ignores the files now squashed underneath his buttocks, does Minseok realizes that his position obviously doesn't instill fear in Luhan anymore.
“Just thought we could grab a drink tonight," Luhan says casually. "It's Friday, and I'd rather have you out with me than rotting away in your apartment.” He sniffs at Minseok. "Your aura says 'expired milk,' my friend." Minseok gives him an unimpressed look.
“Don't feel like it.”
“Come on!" Luhan whines. Minseok flinches. "Stop acting like your life only revolves around these pitiful souls we call clients. These tricksters who fool you into believing in their innocence so that you'll save their sorry asses from years in the slammer."
"They pay me," Minseok argues. Luhan crosses his arms in front of his rather firm chest and tries to pull his usual kicked puppy look on Minseok. He raises one eyebrow at Luhan and waves a hand in dismissal. Luhan's pout gets bigger, but Minseok's gaze lands on a small, brown envelope with a red wax seal in his friend's hands. Before Luhan even has the time to blink, Minseok snatches it out of his grasp.
"Hey!" Luhan protests, but Minseok is up out of his chair, keeping the envelope out of Luhan's reach. It's addressed to him, and his brows furrow in concern when he reads the return address.
It's from the old lady who owns the house he used to live in together with Jongin. In the background, Luhan starts listing countless reasons why Minseok should accompany him to this dope bar he stumbled across the other day, but Minseok doesn't pay his friend any mind as he carefully opens the envelope and unfolds a white letter.
It's handwritten, blue ink stains mark the upper edge, and ink blots are scattered among the gentle loops of the woman's writing. His gaze lingers over every line, swallowing every word and integer that the letter contains. When he reaches the bottom line, Minseok feels the familiar burn in his eyes, and he presses the heel of his right hand over his eyelids, trying to swallow the lump now lodged in his throat.
Luhan's ramble has come to an end, and even without looking at his friend, Minseok knows he is probably tilting his head in confusion.
“Let's grab that drink," Minseok says in lieu of an explanation. "I think I might need it after all.”
Luhan doesn't question the sudden change, just shrugs and hops off of Minseok's desk. He's well aware that Minseok isn't the type of man who easily talks about his feelings or private life. He does the only thing that feels appropriate and pats Minseok's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze.
“I'll meet you in the lobby then? In about an hour?”
Minseok is still staring at the letter, but he nods his head absentmindedly. The door closes with a soft click, and with it, another window in Minseok's heart does as well. He stares at the lost possibility, forever moving along without him behind the glass just like brown leaves taken away by the winter wind.
Three hours later sees Minseok slumped over the bar of the club, nursing his third beer in unfeeling hands as he and Luhan listen to the band playing a slow song in the background. Luhan is quietly watching him, shoving a bowl of chips in Minseok's direction.
"Hey man, alcohol makes you hungry," he says by way of explanation, hiding his concern behind an obnoxious wink. Minseok mutters his thanks and turns his attention to the dancing crowd. They're swaying is sensual and slow, rocking in time with the music and the dim flicker of the stage lights. The bar smells like cigarettes and alcohol, but Minseok is way past the point of caring anymore. The chips taste like ash and salt, but Minseok swallows another handful before tossing back the rest of his beer.
Flashing lights illuminate the faces in the crowd in different colors for mere seconds before
flying off into different directions again. Minseok stares at the dark areas where the color doesn't reach, where he doesn't feel the memories starting to rise up in the edges of his psyche.
Minseok and Luhan only arrived and hour and thirty minutes ago, and yet neither of them has started a full conversation. For this, Minseok is grateful. He reaches out for another tequila shot, downing it in one go and enjoying the feeling of the burning sensation as the liquid runs down his throat, emitting a fire inside of him, making him feel something.
Alcohol loosens his tongue, clouds his mind, and brings out all these suffocating emotions he keeps locked up inside a heavily locked chest. Maybe he is just using the alcohol as excuse to finally open up, share the pain with someone who isn’t his reflection in the mirror or pillow at night.
He wonders if Luhan is even able to understand him between all the slurred lines and background noises but once he starts talking, the words tumble out of his mouth like a stream of water.
He tells Luhan about a young man named Jongin, a passionate dancer, college student, and the person who left Minseok to become the closed up person Luhan met half a year ago. Minseok thinks it must be hard for his coworker to imagine that the guy in front of him used to own a smile that actually reached his eyes, used to hold a person in his arms like tomorrow would never be, used to love the colors of autumn. As Minseok rambles, he realizes that Luhan has never met the real him until this very moment. He thinks even he himself hasn't seen his real character for a very long time.
Minseok teaches Luhan about the small house and the elderly lady with the warm smile that sometimes cooked for him and Jongin, the adoration Minseok felt for Jongin, how his boyfriend’s sudden departure killed him like winter through the branches of the trees, dead bark bare without leaves.
When Luhan asks about the reason for Jongin’s departure, he is told about bitter regret but also confusion. The truth weighs on the edges of his mind, but Minseok is not ready to face the reason for the end of their relationship buried deep inside his heart. He's not ready to open that window and feel the winter air on his skin and taste the bitter, dry air.
“Everything changes," Minseok murmurs. "People. Places. Seasons. There was nothing I could have done but I wanted us to last.” Minseok raises a hand, holding it up and smiling sadly at the silver ring that faintly flashes in the dim light. "I still hope we can last. And it's already over."
His hand falls down to his chest, pressing over the spot where his heart lies beneath his ribcage, hissing at the feeling of each painful beat, the sensation similar to ice tearing into him, stopping his blood like a frozen stream.
“What if. The two words I replay in my head over and over again for nothing," Minseok continues. "My ears are going to bleed if I hear that spoken out loud but I can't fucking stop saying it to myself!" Luhan watches as Minseok's shoulders shake, watches his eyes fill with tears, watches him swallow another shot, and Minseok knows he looks just as pathetic as he feels. He buries his face in his hands.
“The letter you brought in earlier," he breathes between agitated hiccups. "A will. A fucking will, Luhan!” He slams his fist down onto the bar, and the ache in his hand is at least something to concentrate on. Luhan brings one hand up as if he were going to press a comforting hand to Minseok's back, but he lowers it, face troubled as he tries to somehow expresses his sympathy.
“...Jongin?” He asks carefully, and Minseok grimaces in pain before he shakes his head.
“No, not him," Minseok says, and the note of relief in his voice both surprises and sickens him. "My old landlady. She’s been sick, and I was aware of it but I-." He bites his lip hard for a moment. "After Jongin left, I. I just couldn’t stay. I-” He chokes on the last few words, but already the winter wind is whispering them in his ears. I did the thing I do best: bolt without looking back.
The admission, despite being mental, drags up other thoughts- thoughts about how many nights Minseok has spent lying awake with a broken heart, wondering where Jongin was in that exact same moment. He thinks about Jongin lying in the arms of another man, laughing and fooling around in the living room of some other apartment like they used to do in during the weekends. It hurts. It hurts so much that there are days that Minseok doesn’t find sleep until the sun is already creeping through the blinds.
Luhan digs around in his back pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarette, placing one thin stick between his lips and lightening it with his red lightener. He takes a deep drag, and Minseok watches how his chest expands with the smoke. He wonders if he should stop now, if Luhan is too stressed over Minseok's sorrow. He mutters some sort of apology- Minseok's sadness is not his friend's to ponder. Luhan waves it off and offers Minseok a cigarette. He looks a bit surprised when Minseok snatches the one from Luhan's mouth, wrapping his lips around the filter for one inhale before he passes it back, ignoring the throbbing in his temples.
“What’d did it say?" Luhan asks gently. "The will, I mean.” Minseok focuses on anything but the image of the splotchy ink, forcing himself to meet Luhan's eyes. Eyes are the mirror of a person’s soul, a mirror that Minseok has successfully kept out of Luhan’s sight and only now that he offers him a glimpse does Minsoek realize how empty he is. Luhan might not have been ready to see the past that Minseok has kept from him, but the care in Luhan's eyes is enough to assure him that Minseok is not speaking to ears trapped in summer bliss.
“She wants to give me the house," Minseok explains. Luhan's squeezes his knee. "Well. Not. Not me. Us. She. Wants to give it to us." He exhales shakily, his last words dying in a dry cough. Luhan is quick to rub his friend’s back but not without a small smile tugging on his lips.
“You shouldn’t smoke if you aren’t used to it," he says. Minseok hears what he means. You don't have to tell me.
“Shut up.” Minseok throws back, and the atmosphere lightens a little bit. He snatches Luhan's cigarette from him again and draws the ash tray closer, taking one last drag before he dumps the rest of the cigarette inside.
“In the will- well. The letter- she told me to look for Jongin. She said I'm a fool for having let him slip through my fingers." He stops with a wry smile. "She said that people were meant to be. Watching us, me and Jongin- that's the reason she kept living. Or so she said." And Luhan must hear something in his voice, because suddenly all of his focus is very bright, and the monochrome of Minseok's world is tainted by a little bit of green.
“You are going to search for him, right?” Luhan leans back, and it's weird. Minseok almost feels like knocking him down, like playing a joke again. He thinks Luhan has become some sort of therapist, or maybe Minseok was just simply too caught up in his loneliness.
“I don’t know. He was the one who left, so-"
Luhan huffs, unimpressed. Minseok knocks his shoulder against him in retaliation and nearly sends his friend toppling to the floor. He laughs, and it feels good.. Luhan rights himself, and points a finger in Minseok's face.
“Stop. Go after him." His demand is met with shocked silence from Minseok. "You sound like a teenage girl. Blaming everyone but yourself for you being dumped." He steps closer. "It's a two-way street, Minseok. It's obvious that you are partly to blame for him leaving. Man up, and go after him." His words sting, but Luhan is right. Minseok knows it. He has to stop pretending, stop living in his delusion and face the past hurt that he's been running from. It's time for winter to end.
“Handsome here is right. Grow some balls, and fix shit.”
Luhan and Minseok’s heads snap around, surprised by the sudden intruder daring to butt into their rather private conversation. Though, Minseok thinks, a conversation in a crowded bar on a Friday night really has no business being private.
Luhan narrows his eyes at the man who is mischievously grinning at them from behind the counter, and Minseok can feel the corner of his mouth beginning to twitch. The bartender's dark brown hair falls into his face, creating a rather stunning contrast between his pale skin and the shadows cast by his high cheekbones. Luhan swallows, and Minseok can't stop himself from smirking. He catches the bartender's eye, watches the man's lips curl up in a feline manner, and he knows that Luhan will not be going home alone.
The bartender winks at Minseok, and recognition crashes into him with all the force of Luhan's knuckles digging into his ribs, whispering 'don't touch, I want him' out of the corner of his mouth. Minseok snorts. They must have been so immersed in their own little world that they didn’t notice the bartenders swift shifts.
"Jongdae?” Next to him, Luhan is now muttering something that sounds suspiciously like "ridiculously handsome bartender" and Minseok wonders just what about Jongdae has Luhan so worked up. He knows exactly why he's worked up, but a history with Jongin means a history with Jongdae, so it's understandable. Jongdae, or "ridiculously handsome bartender" if Luhan's whispering is to be given any merit, tilts his head to the side, scowling at Minseok reproachfully.
“Yeah, it’s been awhile, asshole," Jongdae says. His voice is pleasant even his words are not. "Can't say I missed you much after you broke my baby Nini’s heart.” Jongdae grits his teeth, and Minseok can feels himself shrinking back, folding in on himself under the bartender's harsh glare.
“That’s not the right manner to talk to a customer now, is it?” Minseok glances to the side where Luhan has one eyebrow raised and his index finger tapping on the bar. Minseok is grateful for Luhan drawing Jongdae's attention to himself. The bartender and Luhan stare at each other, and Minseok swears the tension between them is thicker than molasses. Jongdae's adam's apple bobs with his swallow as he gives Luhan a once over before a cocky smirk spreads across his face.
“Look gorgeous, if I wanted your opinion, I’d bend you over the counter and fuck it out of you," Jongdae says, voice wicked. "But that’s not the case tonight.” Jongdae winks at Luhan, and Minseok would venture to say that his friend looks both dumbstruck and halfway to disappointed, choking on his own tongue. A scandalized scoff is all Luhan manages in return.
Minseok fights off the urge to bang his head against the counter for not paying more attention to the name of the bar when they came in earlier and paying too much attention to the exchange between Jongdae and Luhan. It's disgusting. He had successfully avoided coming in here for the last few months only to have fate laughing at his face tonight. Of all the people he could have encountered within the past year, Jongdae was one of the top names on his “must avoid at all costs” list.
Speak, or think, of the devil and his attention will return to you, Minseok thinks dryly as Jongdae turns back to him.
“Listen up, Minseok," Jongdae snaps. "I don't give a shit about your principles. As both Jongin’s friend and your old friend, I’m telling you to get down to god damn business and fix the mess your ignorance made." Jongdae hovers threateningly over the counter, and Minseok has a hard time keeping eye contact.
“Old friend?!” Luhan squawks before quickly slapping both of his hands over his lips, cheeks reddening over the sound he just produced.
Jongdae darts his tongue out and wets his lips, reaching out suddenly, trapping Luhan’s chin in a tight grip. He leans forward, forcing Luhan to angle his head, and Minseok almost gags. Does he have to be so obscene?
“He’s kinda cute Minseok," Jongdae muses. "It's too bad I have to waste my precious time on you or else-" He cuts himself off, but the intention behind his words and the heated gaze he's focused on Luhan are rather clear.
“You are at work-" Minseok tries to cut in, clearing his throat. He shuts his mouth instantly when he receives a warning glare.
“Or else I would take your friend here for a ride he’d never forget.”
Jongdae’s voice is so low, and Minseok swears he can see Luhan shivering. Minseok gets it: Luhan is a rather promiscuous guy, and Jongdae is admittedly very handsome. Then again, leaning in close enough to be almost kissing does tend to throw just about anyone, no matter how lustful of a person, into a bit of a stunned state.
“Stop that!” Minseok hisses, feeling a hell of a lot more sober since he's stopped continuously sipping on his drinks. This time, he holds the glare Jongdae sends him over his shoulder. His old friend finally lets go of a rather disgruntled looking Luhan and puts his attention back on Minseok- but not before throwing Luhan another knowing smirk.
Minseok gathers his courage, grips the counter.
"Do you know where he is?" It isn’t necessary to say Jongin’s name out loud; they both know who he is, yet Jongdae crosses his arms in front of his chest as if he's expecting Minseok to say something more.
“Who?" Jongdae asks, leaning forward. "Oh. You mean...Jongin?” Jongdae emphasizes the name, and Minseok has to keep himself from smacking Jongdae over the head. The other is younger than him after all - not that age or rank has ever mattered to Jongdae. He nods. Yes, he means Jongin.
“Yeah, I do.” Jongdae continues. At Minseok's expectant gaze, he snorts. "And just where is the fun if I just tell you?” Minseok curses softly under his breath.
“What do you want, Jongdae?” After all these years Minseok knows better than to argue with Jongdae, the guy is way too thick skinned to be lectured. Unfortunately, playing his games is the only way to get through to him.
“Go home, sober up," Jongdae orders. "I might consider having you buy me breakfast tomorrow morning.” Jongdae’s mood suddenly takes a complete turn, and he chirps out the last words so that poor Luhan ends up choking on his beer.
“How old are you anyways?” Luhan tries to ask, but his mouth snaps shut like a submissive puppy the moment Jongdae shortens the space between them. Minseok sighs.
"I think you're the one who needs an ID, my dear," Jongdae quips. "But I assure you I'm old enough to work in a club as a bartender and plenty old enough to hit on pretty things like you."
Minseok’s mind is running wild again. Jongdae is the one link that could help connect all the dots on the map he has drawn inside his mind. He's one of the puzzle pieces that could help him lead the way back to where he belonged. He's one of the leaves that once blew away. His teeth knead his bottom lip, a habit he took on whenever he is wracking his brain over a decision he can no longer avoid making.
“I don’t even deserve him.” The words leave his mouth before his mind has registered them, and when he sees the glint in Jongdae’s eyes, he regrets them right away.
“Yeah, you really don't,” he spits from behind the counter, fist tightening around a bottle of tequila he’d just picked up. "Unfortunately, Nini doesn't agree with me on that." Minseok feels light-headed.
“Jongin, then. D-does he-" Jongdae doesn't let Minseok finish, but Minseok isn't sure he could have completed the question anyway.
“Go home," Jongdae says. "Either we talk tomorrow, or you can stay and drown yourself in more self-pity for all I care.”
With that said, Jongdae simply turns on his heel and does his actual job. Luhan sputters a bit, and Minseok thinks maybe his friend forgot that Jongdae is here to serve drinks, not flirt with him. The bartender serves all customers except Minseok and Luhan though, and Luhan whines at Minseok about the "ridiculously handsome bartender" for the remaining time they're there.
Minseok urges Luhan to get up, telling him firmly that they're leaving despite the wobble in his step. Just as they get themselves organized, Jongdae's hand snatches Luhan's wrist and drags him in close.
“See you tomorrow, gorgeous.”
Jongdae then chuckles and walks down to the other end of the bar, and Luhan is frozen still. Minseok gets a grip on his shoulder, giving an exasperated sigh. Luhan only gets a grip of himself again when he feels Minseok's hand on his arm and blinks at him in surprise.
“Sorry about that," Minseok tells him sincerely. "And um. Thanks for tonight.”
Minseok gives Luhan’s arm another soft pat before he holds out his hand and hails the two of them a Taxi. He bashfully asks Luhan to join him for breakfast tomorrow once they're on their way to their respective neighborhoods. Luhan pinches his cheek, and Minseok suddenly come to the painful conclusion that tonight hasn’t been just an odd dream he is about to wake up from. Luhan makes some lewd comment about Jongdae, and Minseok thinks maybe it's better to be awake anyway. His hands feel warm, and the monochrome plus green world gains a little blue.
~*~
Jongdae stifles a yawn as he drags himself up the last steps to his small apartment, tiredly fishing in his jeans pocket for his keys and once again cursing his working hours as a bartender.
He unlocks the door, flinching at the sounds of the locks tumbling. He inwardly scolds himself for having to tiptoe in his own four walls, but the mere thought of waking up Jongin has him holding his breath as he passes the living room.
“Jongdae?” a sleep-rough voice breaks through the silence, and Jongdae’s shoulders slump in defeat.
“Why aren’t you sleeping, Jongin?” Jongdae slowly approaches the bundle of sheets and limbs curled up on his couch before lowering himself carefully to sit on the edge.
Jongin cutely rubs the back of his hand over his eyes before sending him a warm smile in the darkness. "Woke up because your neighbor started singing again." He scowls. "He should just give up on it already.” That makes Jongdae laugh, and he gently combs his fingers through Jongin’s hair before wagging his first finger in front of him,
“Let the man live out his dream," Jongdae scolds. "He's one of those office guys trapped inside an office and a suit for ten hours a day. Poor guy's got to release stress somehow.”
Jongdae doesn’t need to turn on the light to see that Jongin is pouting at him, and he leans down to ruffle through the younger’s hair.
“He's got no talent though.” Jongin mumbles under his breath as he shifts into a more comfortable position. It takes less than a minute before he has fallen into a deep slumber again.
Jongdae waits for another moment and just watches Jongin sleep. Little did he know that back when he introduced Jongin and Minseok to each other, their entwined roads would give both parties more pain than happiness.
He slowly straightens up and sighs, hands falling to his side and mind wandering off to the last words he has exchanged with the elderly lady before her passing,
“You are the one who brought them together, so I have faith in you being able to do it again," She had said. She jokingly added, "Use force if needed.”
Jongdae groans as he allows himself to fall into his soft sheets. He didn’t choose to play matchmaker, but what other choice does he have? As much as he loves Jongin, Jongdae would actually really love to get laid again, and preferably by Minseok's friend. Jongdae knows a loyal friend when he sees one, so he's better try his best and help Minseok fix things or he'll end up with singing to the shower head at four in the morning.
part two