(no subject)
█ ✫ INSIDE OUT ··· ( ch 9 of ? )
█ pairing: minkey
█ rating: NC-17
█ genre: drama - romance
✫ ··· chapter index
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven-A (Interlude)
Chapter Eight
✫ ··· author's note:
This chapter is a little shorter than normal, but I wrote it all in one sitting. I think I'm starting to get my writing mojo back. Maybe. Here's hoping.
The talk with Onew is easier with their hands clasped together between them.
Key and Minho are instructed that they must be the ones to tell what Onew calls the immediates - meaning anyone who lives in the dorms with them. Then come the ground rules. They are to be considerate of the other members. When Key asks if that means no more kissing in the kitchen, Onew mutters about that being Not quite what I was talking about. It's a struggle for Minho not to laugh when he realizes what Onew has attempted to allude to; Key makes no attempt at restraint.
Outside of these walls, they cannot be anything more than what they've always been. Luckily for them Key already has a habit of hanging off of people at his own whim and will, so they won't have to be distant; just careful, and above all else, platonic anywhere but where they sit now.
It's not so bad, really. It's nothing Key wasn't at least half-expecting, and he can't help but feel so inexplicably grateful to Onew for making it seem so simple for them. He knows that the mere act of holding Minho's hand or looking in his direction a certain way now means another white hair another year too early for their leader, but he is willing to add to his growing collection just so they can be together, if only at the dorm. It is more than enough.
In his head, he organizes who needs to be told what. Telling Taemin will mean hugs and unfamiliar cooing and teasing from their youngest member, which Key decides he will probably enjoy and should save for absolute last. Their management, Key decides, will need to be rip-roaringly drunk to take the announcement with anything resembling good humour, so they'll have to come later. The real problem is Jonghyun.
Key isn't actively ignoring him any more but is still uncommunicative, and Jonghyun has either given up trying or finally figured out that Key needs his space. It dawns on him, sort of like the sudden dull ache of a formerly unnoticed bruise, that he and Jonghyun haven't spoken since what essentially was his and Key's first kiss.
Referring to it as such even in the privacy of his own mind makes Key feel hollow, so he swears never to do it again.
As Jonghyun and Taemin were already in bed when their chat began, Minho and Key are left alone with their entwined fingers when Onew gives them a tired smile and wanders off to bury himself in his bedsheets. They sit side by side for a while more, soundless as they digest their new reality, Minho's thumb dragging casually along the mound of Key's wrist with their interwoven digits as a hinge.
After a moment's consideration, Minho raises their hands to his lips so he can place a soft, careful kiss across the back of Key's knobby knuckles. It should be out of nowhere, but with the issue weighing so prominently in his own mind, it doesn't surprise Key as much as it seemingly should when Minho airs it out.
“You can't ignore Jonghyun forever.”
Key's immediate reply is stunted by the tightening of his throat, leaving his lips breathless and strangled. He clears it softly and tries again, and manages a whisper. “I know.”
Minho seems to be waiting for him to elaborate - to say something pivotal - but any thoughts of words die before they can form against his tongue. The barest issue is, Key doesn't know what to say to Jonghyun anymore. He tries and tries to summon anger, or sadness, or betrayal, and all he manages in each effort is to dredge up the ache. The tired throb of the formless, knotted tangle that now functions as his heart.
“Tomorrow,” says Minho, tightening his grip on Key's hand a fraction, “Tomorrow. Once we're all home. Just you talking to him again will make his night, even if he knows it won't lead to an easy conversation.”
Having a set date makes it seem more real. The ache becomes a pinch, the jab of an unfriendly pat on the back, with a knife-tip concealed in the illusion of the comforting gesture. Key squeezes Minho's hand so hard the bones of his knuckles bleach the blood from his skin. Minho doesn't even wince, even though Key is certain his grip is a vice.
“I'm scared,” comes Key's quiet voice, so low a poorly-timed breath could have smothered the sound, “I'm so scared, Minho.”
“No matter what,” Minho's voice is the rumble of the coming rain that quenches the parched earth after a drought, a welcome storm to stir the dust that has settled over Key's every uncertainty, “No matter what comes out of either of your mouths, no matter how words change what's between you and Jonghyun... I won't change. I'll be here for you five seconds before you need me, holding your hand before you can even think to reach for mine. I'm right beside you, and I always will be.”
A watery smile is what Key can offer, because really, what could he say to something like that, that won't do anything but cheapen the words? It's returned to him tenfold, all fondness and glittering black-brown eyes. Key leans forward to press their lips together, trying to say thank-you's in every language he knows with each shift of their mouths, to tie them together with a thread more red than even fate could weave between them. When Minho's tongue brushes against his bottom lip it pulls a small, gentle laugh from the very centre of him, warm and safe and home as he welcomes the intrusion and transfers the sound between them like a telegraph, and hopes Minho gets the message.
··· ✫ ···
The next night, Jonghyun doesn't make it to dinner at the dorm.
As Taemin and Minho clear the dishes, and Onew takes a phone call in the bedroom - a gesture that means it's leader business and he's not sure he's going to like what he's being told, since it's usually that their schedule is about to get heavier - Key takes up residence on the couch. He flips on a subtitled version of The Fifth Element, already half an hour into the film, but he likes the look of it and decides to stick around despite being a bit confused by the progression.
The other members join him, then slowly begin to trickle off to bed. They're exhausted, and Taemin mouths Japanese verbs under his breath with the assistance of a keyring of flashcards as he shuffles down the hall to pass out. Key will probably have to pry the cards carefully out from under his cheek later in the night.
Minho remains for the end of the movie, with Key curled up under the curve of his arm. The end credits get shoved into a corner as a commercial for a multivitamin plays in higher prominence before Minho carefully extricates himself from the couch, planting a firm kiss to Key's mouth and temple before he rises. “Don't stay up too late,” he says, but they both know it'll probably happen anyhow. Still, Key nods, and assures him he won't.
Over the course of the last few months, Minho has gotten more used to sleeping in the shared bedroom without Jonghyun in it. In the last couple of weeks, his frequent absence when Minho pulls the blankets under his chin at night is more a blessing, meaning he can fall asleep without quite so many questions churning the acid in his gut.
As he prays for sleep to claim him swiftly, a more prevalent feeling sours his stomach. He can pretend all he likes, but the weakest, most hated part of himself is wide awake and preparing for mutiny. His heart hammers incessantly against his eardrums as the familiar feeling of dread washes over him, and the thinking begins.
Jonghyun, Key, and the word Love; at one time all three were blatantly connected, and the pain was easier to contend with all spelled out like that. This new elusiveness, the unpredictability of the outcome, and the resulting inability to prepare for the worst is dangerous. Minho cannot play a role in a game he doesn't know the rules to. The wildcard is the hammering of Key's heart in the kitchen yesterday morning, the panic that welled in his eyes and seized at his chest to steal the air from his lungs, if only for a moment.
Minho wishes he knew what had gone on that day Key had bolted from the dorm, begging in two different directions. Pleading that Minho wouldn't follow him to his sanctuary on the roof as he scrambled for the stairs; then proving as the first few tears shattered against his cheeks that the last thing he really wanted was to be left alone. It's unfair of him, he knows, to want Key to divulge what transpired between the two of them in the bedroom that had so rattled him. His reasoning is almost entirely selfish, because it shouldn't matter. It shouldn't matter because he can still smell Key's shampoo against his pillow even though they changed the sheets, buried in the cotton-batting in a manner not so dissimilar to the way he wormed his way into Minho's chest and took up residence where he saw fit.
With no clear reference level, Minho braces himself as the thudding of his own heart becomes a war drum, and the battle that has been looming in the corners of his mind begins in earnest. He buries his face in his bedding and inhales as deeply as he can, breathing in until he's dizzy, but the lingering scent of Key does little to bolster his defences. When he exhales, it's as good as surrendering.
··· ✫ ···
It's just after two in the morning when Jonghyun punches in the security code for the dorm, carefully swinging the door open when the lock pops and tiptoeing inside. The tinny sound of the television set meets his ears, turned down so that he can barely make out what's being said. He pulls off his boots, making sure to set them against the ground rather than send them clattering to the floor as he usually would, and pads lightly into the living room to rouse whoever has passed out on the couch.
Key is curled around one of his beloved zebra printed throw pillows, knees tucked close to his body. He's never really snored, but when he's sleeping deeply enough the passage of air from parted lips sounds like a hum, or a coo. Jonghyun hasn't heard it since they all shared one room, and even then he'd had to carefully pick it up among the cacophony of boy noises from the other members - Onew's heavy snores, Taemin's muttering, Minho's occasional nonsense sentences (“But who will bring the credenza?” was a reoccurring favourite, but Jonghyun had no idea what a credenza was and didn't think Minho did, either). Here, with the television softer than even Key's sleep-noises, it almost sounds like he's singing; a sweet, simple little melody.
Jonghyun tears his eyes from the way the pale blue-white light of the television screen casts dark shadows across Key's face, highlighting his cheekbones and the fullness of his mouth. Shaking his head, he smashes his fingers against his sockets, rubbing the lingering image away as he wanders half-blind into the kitchen. He gets himself a glass of water, chugs it down, and waits for it to stop sloshing around inside of him like an overfull kiddie pool. With a dubious glance at the living room he sighs, puts the glass in the sink, and creeps back to the entryway. Armed with a fleece blanket from the closet, he slowly lowers it over Key's feet, unfolding it carefully up his legs and over his waist.
The moment the blanket touches the bare skin of his arms, Key begins to stir, and Jonghyun freezes. A displeased little groan and Key rolls over, and then they're face to face - Jonghyun's eyes wide and uncertain, Key's squinted and fuzzy with slumber.
“Jong'un?” He manages something like Jonghyun's name, rubbing at his bleary eyes and slightly puffy cheeks, and the reaction is immediate; Jonghyun's heart basically feels like it's fallen down a flight of stairs before his body can get it beating regularly again.
“Sorry,” he blurts, mouth on autopilot, “I didn't mean to wake you.”
“S'kay” mumbles Key, still trying to pry his brain from the sweet buzz of sleep, “Wanted to talk t'you anyway.”
Key disentangles his legs from the blanket and stands, and Jonghyun snaps upright immediately. “Talk to me?” he he asks cautiously, like he's misheard or made it up or fallen down the stairs with his heart and possibly given himself head trauma. Key just nods and mutters an affirmative, padding over to the pile of shoes by the door and slipping into a pair of lime green converse, easiest to see in the dark. He grabs a coat from the closet - one of Onew's funfur-lined zip hoodies - and tosses it on.
“C'mon,” Key motions for him to follow and turns to the door. Jonghyun realizes two things; the first, and most obvious, is that Key is talking to him relatively normally, which is a miracle in and of itself. The second, and more fleeting thought, is that Key wants to go up to the roof. With him. Jonghyun's first thought is to say no, to out and out refuse to go anywhere near the roof of the dorms, but this is his chance. This is probably the only opportunity he's going to get to talk things out with Key, and if he fucks it up just because he can still see them up their with their mouths and hands - it's fresh and he hates it, but he'll deal if it means Key will just speak to him again.
He slips back into his shoes, and follows Key to the elevator. They ride in silence, transfer to the stairs at the top floor, and Jonghyun has to take a deep, steadying breath before he follows Key out onto the roof.
When the metal door shuts behind him he sees Key already leaning against the railing, a light wind curling his sleep-tousled hair around his ears and across his forehead. With the backdrop of the city behind his face, and the sparse glow of the street lighting him in midnight orange from below, Key looks beautiful in the most terrible of ways. Jonghyun feels his heart mending and breaking and mending, over and over again, as he moves to join him.
He's not sure what's meant to happen now, shoving his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans to keep them from shaking. Jonghyun is an over-wound pocketwatch, the instruments that keep him going grinding together and stuttering with each second that passes between them in silence, but no. No, he won't rush this, even if the waiting is as hard as standing in the same place he saw Key and Minho locked at the lips the night before. His hangover hadn't been bad that morning, but he can feel the throb in his head begin to resurface. He ignores it.
“I was hoping that I'd know what to say to you when we got up here,” Key's says, eyes fixed on this hands, folded across the railing in front of him, “Like the words would just... Magically appear in my head, and then I could yell them at you for a while, and you could yell at me for a while, and then... We'd be okay.” Key turns to him with a sad smile, looking careworn and resigned. Jonghyun is suddenly suckerpunched by the urge to cry. “I mean, that's what we do, you and I, isn't it? We yell a little and then we cry a lot and then we're good again. Right?”
Jonghyun doesn't know what to say to that. He's not really sure Key is looking for an answer, anyhow. They stand in silence for a while more, both looking out at the sparkling of skyscrapers and streetlamps in the distance, but Jonghyun's brain is going a mile a minute. When he finally catches up, he opens his mouth, and prays the right thing comes out.
He says, “I hate not talking to you.”
Key smiles. “I hate it, too.”
He adds, “I hate that I ruined this.”
“You can't take all the credit. I helped a little.”
“I could have told you no,” barks Jonghyun, and for the first time since this all started he realizes how easy it would have been, is suddenly so aware that he had had Key in the palms of his hands and had let him go without a fight, “I could have told you no, and I could have manned up and told you the truth, but I didn't. I could have sat you down and told you that I thought I could love Sekyung, I was so sure that I could, but that I wasn't in love with her. I could have grown a pair and told you that the person I was in love with was you, but I was afraid of it. I was afraid of what I felt for you, I was afraid of driving you away, and it wasn't until you were desperate enough to ask that I realized how stupid I had been. I lost you because I was afraid of losing you. I drove you away because I was desperate enough to let you break yourself over someone like me, rather that admit to my mistakes.”
As the wind swirls Key's hair against his temples, Jonghyun searches the other's gaze. He sees sadness, plenty of sadness, deep and rusted and permanent; he sees a little bit of shock, but Key's always covered that up well, so he bypasses it; but it's what he doesn't find that shocks him most. There is no flickering in Key's eyes that says he's afraid, or confused anymore. Key is suddenly brilliant, strong and steady and a little worn around the edges, a little worse for wear, but he is pliant without bending, solid without being inflexible. He is perfect. He is golden.
“You're happy,” Jonghyun says once his anger has cooled, and his breathing isn't quite so harsh. Key gives him a questioning look, but Jonghyun just smiles and repeats himself. “You're happy, Key. I can see it. He makes you happy.” Key flushes in the low light, bright enough for Jonghyun to notice in the darkness, and turns away from him.
“I was going to tell you,” he starts, but Jonghyun holds up his hands to stop him.
“I already knew. I would never have been so jealous of him if I didn't.” He smiles, and it feels like he is weightless when Key returns it, a little unsure but so hopeful, so boldly contented that Jonghyun knows Key can forgive him; no matter how long it takes him to forgive himself, Key has already started down that road. Jonghyun doesn't understand how it's possible, but chalks it up to Key being the better person, the bigger person. His mind conjures up a short joke and he squashes it.
“You're still my best friend, you know.” There is warmth in Key's voice, low and almost teasing. It nearly sets off the waterworks, but Jonghyun manages to keep himself dry-eyed, for now.
“I do now,” he replies, watching with amusement as Key's smile is broken by a long, drawn-out yawn. He looks apologetic when he stops, but Jonghyun waves him off. “It's fine, Key. It's, like, three in the morning, and I woke you up. We should both be in bed.”
Key nods in agreement, pulling away from the edge of the building. When Jonghyun moves to follow him back to the stairs he finds himself with an armload of Key, arms wrapped tightly around his neck.
“Sorry,” he says against Jonghyun's shoulder, and he doesn't really sound as sorry as he could be, “Just a quick one.”
Jonghyun sighs. “Please stop apologising.” He gives Key a brief squeeze before he forces himself to let go, and Key unwinds his arms as space returns between them. Space, but not distance. They're not where they once were, but they'll get there. They have managed to keep their bridge from burning - all it needs now is time, and a little elbow grease.
“Come on,” Key laughs softly, stifling another yawn, “I'm so fucking tired. Let's go back.”
Jonghyun knows he's talking about going back to the dorm and sleeping as long as possible. He knows that, but maybe he also sort of means going back to they way they were, before love and lust got in the way and played fifty-two pick-up with their lives and their hearts; back to when they were two trainee idiots with questionable hair running around taking pictures together in bathroom mirrors. He nods, smiling wide and honest.
“Yeah. Sounds good to me.”