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“You’re going out?” Jongho asked from their shitty couch, as he pressed pause on the video game he’d been playing.
It wasn’t really a question that needed to be asked. Mingi lived in sweatpants and sweatshirts unless he was going to a party. Then he pulled together unfairly stylish outfits that Jongho would swear were designed specifically to highlight everything he found attractive about Mingi. Case and point, tonight’s outfit. Baggy jeans with so many rips in the thighs that there was no mystery to exactly how muscular Mingi’s legs were. In the same way the skin tight black t-shirt he was wearing highlighted his trim waist and muscular pecs. He’d carefully styled his shaggy dyed blonde hair to emphasize his sharp eyes and cheekbones. In short, he was like catnip to Jongho.
Jongho who wasn’t supposed to be thinking about his friend, his roommate, like that.
“Yeah,” Mingi flashed him a grin. “Yunho’s frat’s hosting a kegger. You wanna come?”
Jongho shook his head. “I’m good. Have fun. Don’t drink too much.”
MIngi’s grin took on a mischievous edge as he shoved his feet into his airforces. “No promises.”
Jongho gave him a long suffering sigh. “Doesn’t hurt to ask.”
Mingi laughed and pulled the front door open. “See you later, Jongho.”
“Bye,” Jongho mumbled at Mingi's back as he hurried out into the hall.
As the door clicked shut, Jongho sagged back against the couch, head tipping to stare listlessly at the ceiling. He’d been here before. He knew how this would play out. It would not be a surprise in the slightest.
Jongho had options, he didn’t have to sit here and let the same story play out exactly as it had been for the last couple of months. It would be so simple to text Wooyoung or call Yeosang. They would both gladly let him hang out with them on a Friday night. Hongjoong and Seonghwa were always trying to get him to go bar hopping at the stupidly trendy bars downtown. One text to them and he could be in an uber to meet them wherever they were. Or Jongho could simply go to bed before Mingi got home. That one small action would alter the course of the story enough. Probably.
He blinked at the ceiling trying to figure out how they got here. None of the pieces of Jongho’s current predicament existed last semester when Jongho had gladly agreed to be Mingi’s roommate. A vacancy that was only open because Yunho had decided to move into the frat house now that he had the option as a senior. It had seemed like simple math just a handful of months ago. Mingi had needed someone to split the bills with, Jongho was tired of living in student housing, and they were already friendly enough, having spent the last few semesters moving through overlapping social circles. One plus one plus one equaled three and Jongho had signed the lease.
Now though, after months of living with Mingi, getting to know Mingi. The real Mingi, not just the cool guy persona he liked to project in public. The soft, groggy morning Mingi who was useless until he’d had a cup of coffee. The determined, driven Mingi who pulled late hours researching assignments and studying for tests. The sweet, kind Mingi who would give his shirt off his back to anyone he considered a friend. All the sides of Mingi that Jongho had fallen in love with so slowly he hadn’t even realized it was happening until it was too late to pull himself back from the edge. He’d tumbled right over it, headlong and knowing there was nothing waiting for him at the bottom of the drop but pain and heartache. Jongho wasn’t so sure past him should have put his name on that dotted line.
Jongho knew he should do anything to disrupt the course of events that were coming for him and yet all he did was pick his head up and return to his video game.
⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹
The scrape of keys against the lock on the front door startled Jongho out of his half doze. A movie he hadn’t remembered putting on was playing quietly on the TV in front of him. The scraping noise continued as Jongho grogily pushed himself to his feet, rubbing at his tired eyes. None of this was a surprise though. He knew who was on the other side of that door.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Jongho grumbled, not quite loud enough to be heard through the door, as he shuffled across the living room.
The scraping didn’t stop but the jiggling of the door handle joined the terrible music. Jongho put a hand on the twitching door handle and took a moment to steel himself for what he knew was waiting for him. With a deep breath, Jongho flipped the lock and pulled the door open.
Immediately he was hit with a human being, stumbling to catch his balance so they didn’t go tumbling to the ground. Eventually he got his arms around the larger person and his own legs under him solidly. The person leaning on his chest was on the verge of falling over even with Jongho’s full support. Blonde hair obscured Jongho’s vision, as the body in his arms put complete faith in Jongho’s ability to keep him upright.
“Thank you,” Mingi slurred against Jongho’s shoulder.
“Yeah, yeah,” Jongho muttered as he stepped backward into the apartment, kicking the door shut once Mingi was past the threshold. “You gotta stop doing this, Mingi. It can’t be good for your liver.”
“Liver, shmiver,” Mingi slurred nonsensically.
“I’m sure that’s not what you’ll be saying tomorrow,” Jongho told him, not that he was expecting a coherent response. “Let’s get some water in you.”
Mingi moaned. “You sound like Yunho.”
“That’s because between the three of us, Yunho and I got all the sense apparently,” Jongho grumbled, trying in vain to get Mingi to stand on his own two feet. “Come on.”
“You have something Yunho doesn’t,” Mingi told him, picking his head up for the first time since Jongho had caught him falling through the doorway.
The hair that had been carefully styled just a few hours was in complete disarray. Almost like Mingi, or someone else, had been running their hands through it. His eyes were glassy and not quite focused on anything in particular even though he was looking in Jongho’s direction. A bright pink flush ran from his cheeks down his neck.
“What do I have that Yunho doesn’t?” Jongho asked exasperatedly.
“My heart,” Mingi told him with a slur.
Jongho sighed but before he could do anything else, Mingi had a sudden burst of stability. He pulled away from Jongho, far enough so that he could clasp Jongho’s face between his hands.
“You’re so handsome, Jjongie,” Mingi told him, squishing his cheeks in a way Jongho was sure did not improve his physical appearance. “Your round cheeks, your pretty eyes, and your pouty lips. Gah! Who said you could be so handsome while you’re living with me?”
Jongho grabbed Mingi’s wrists and tried to pull his hands from his face. “I’m just me, Min. Stop being ridiculous.”
Mingi was doing anything but listening. His hands did leave Jongho’s face but only to skim down his neck and across his shoulders to squeeze his biceps.
“Not to mention the rest of you. God, you’re so strong.” Mingi’s eyes wandered across Jongho’s body with no shame. “You should show off your body more. You work so hard for it. It’s a shame I’m the only one who gets to see your efforts.”
“I’m fine with the way I dress, Mingi,” Jongho told him sternly and tried to nudge him towards the kitchen.
Mingi was having none of it. “Mmmm yeah, you’re right. Our little secret. Keep you all to myself, Jjongie.”
“Sure, Min,” Jongho tried to pacify him. “It can be our secret.”
“I’ll keep you my dirty little secret,” Mingi sang the lyrics to an old alt rock song he liked to play while he studied.
He was off key and nowhere near the right tempo but Jongho recognized it nonetheless. Hard not to when he heard that track at least once a week.
Mingi’s face pinched, a frown pulling at his lips. “No, no. That’s wrong. You’re not a dirty secret.”
“Thanks Mingi,” Jongho finally managed to get Mingi to start moving towards the kitchen.
As Mingi stumbled behind Jongho he kept up a steady stream of praises for Jongho. With a shake of his head, Jongho forced Mingi to sit in one of the kitchen chairs. He immediately slumped to lay half on the table, one arm outstretched, head lolling against his bicep, but at least Jongho wasn’t responsible for keeping him off the ground anymore.
“Stay here,” Jongho told him.
Mingi nodded, cheek rubbing against the table.
“I’d be so proud to call you mine, Jjongie. I’d show you off all the time.” Mingi continued his mumbling as Jongho poured a glass of water. “I’d brag about you and make sure everyone knew how lucky I was.”
He placed it on the table next to him. “That’s nice, Min. Drink this, please.”
Instead of doing as he was told, Mingi snagged Jongho’s wrist. Even drunk, breaking Mingi’s grip wasn’t an easy task. He held tight as he straightened up in his chair. When Jongho tried to use his free hand to pry Mingi’s fingers off; Mingi just grabbed that wrist as well. Unfairly, he gathered both of Jongho’s wrists in one of his stupidly large hands and held them tight between the two of them as he gazed up at Jongho.
“Jongho, Jongho, Jongho,” Mingi repeated his name almost desperately.
“What Mingi?” Jongho asked, giving up on trying to free his hands.
“Marry me, Jongho?”
There it was. The question Mingi had been asking him every Friday for two months while incredibly drunk. Jongho had known they would end up here. Known, and hadn’t done anything to prevent it. He could have gone out for the evening or even gone to bed. But he hadn’t because he was weak.
Weak for Song Mingi.
So weak he couldn’t bear the thought of Mingi stumbling around their apartment drunk. If he were even able to get past the front door. So here Jongho was, getting proposed to by his crush, again. His only thanks for making sure Mingi drank water, ate a snack, and brushed his teeth before he fell into bed.
It didn’t matter how many pretty words Mingi spouted before he proposed. Jongho couldn’t let himself believe the words of a drunk man. Especially one who never seemed to remember any of it in the morning. Not proposing, not telling Jongho how handsome he was, not listing Jongho’s best qualities in long rambling bouts, none of it. Mingi never seemed to remember any of it. He wasn’t even awkward on Saturday morning. Just the same old Mingi who treated Jongho like he treated any of their other friends. For his own sanity, Jongho couldn’t let himself believe anything drunk Mingi told him.
So instead, he did what he’d done the seven other times he’d found himself in this scenario. He ignored the question entirely and encouraged Mingi to drink the water in front of him. After he successfully managed to bully Mingi into also eating a granola bar, he towed him into the bathroom. It was a task to keep Mingi upright long enough to brush his teeth but Jongho managed.
“Come on, bed,” Jongho told him as he put the toothbrush back in the holder.
“Stay with me, Jjongie?” Mingi begged as he let Jongho move him down the short hallway.
“No, Min,” Jongho told him softly.
Mingi pouted but didn’t ask again. That was a win as far as Jongho was concerned. As Mingi began to undress without any shame, Jongho looked around for his trashcan. It always seemed to end up somewhere else every week. By the time he located it under a jacket by the closet, Mingi had managed to climb into bed, a blanket mercifully covering his lower half.
“Here,” Jongho put the trashcan down next to him. “Just in case.”
“Thanks Jjongie,” Mingi mumbled, already half asleep.
“Anytime,” Jongho whispered as he slipped out of Mingi’s room.
⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹
It was a beautiful Saturday morning, there were so many things Jongho could be doing. He could be out on a stroll enjoying the nice weather. He could be at the gym, starting his day off with a nice long workout. He could be doing that paper he’s been putting off for weeks and is due at the end of next week. He could still be curled up in bed, catching up on some sleep.
He had many options, but instead he was at the kitchen table staring at a cup of slowly cooling coffee. The same table Mingi had proposed to him at, again. For the eighth time in as many weeks. Really he shouldn’t be as bent out of shape as he was about something that was probably said in jest by a drunk person. And yet here he was, miserable and deep in his feelings about the whole thing.
Maybe it would be different if sober Mingi showed even a little romantic interest in Jongho but he didn’t. Mingi never treated Jongho with anything but a friendly air when he was sober. Hell he was less affectionate with Jongho than he was with his other friends. When they watched movies together, Mingi laid in Yunho’s lap or snuggled up against Wooyoung. He would blatantly flirt with any of them if the mood struck him. Any of them but Jongho.
Jongho was always kept at an appropriately friendly distance, whether it was the two of them playing FIFA together or as part of a group ragging on the latest episode of whatever reality TV show they were following that month. When Mingi was in a flirtatious mood, Jongho would never be his target for the evening. He’d use his terrible pickup lines on Yeosang just to watch him groan and roll his eyes. He’d happily compliment Wooyoung’s figure, San’s gains, or Hongjoong’s outfits while letting his eyes wander all over them. He’d trail his fingers over Yunho or Seonghwa if they were next to him or he happened to pass behind them. Jongho, though, Jongho was off limits for a reason he could not even begin to fathom. Mingi hadn’t even attempted to flirt with Jongho once so it wasn’t that Jongho had told him to cut it out.
Jongho groaned audibly. He was pathetic. It was pathetic that he had even noticed how Mingi’s habits differed between him and the rest of their friend group. It was pathetic that he cared at all. And it was certainly pathetic that he cared this much.
The sound of a door opening further into their apartment alerted Jongho to the fact that he was no longer alone with his thoughts. But even as he willed himself to get up and do literally anything, he remained seated, hands wrapped around the mug. He sipped on his coffee as he listened to Mingi shuffling around the bathroom and then down the hall. Even as Mingi stepped into the kitchen, looking like death warmed over, Jongho didn’t move. In fact he barely looked up as Mingi stumbled his way over to the coffee pot. Of course Jongho had made enough for both of them, he wasn’t a monster.
“Rough night?” Mingi asked, leaning back against the counter cradling his mug of coffee like a lifeline.
“Huh?” Jongho asked, glancing up at Mingi.
“You look—,” Mingi waved in Jongho’s general direction. “I don’t know, out of sorts? Everything good?”
For a moment Jongho just looked at Mingi. He wasn’t sure why he was even surprised. Mingi had never remembered what happened after he was out drinking. Not even hazy memories seemed to stick with him.
“I can’t keep doing this,” Jongho muttered, finally standing up from the table.
Mingi looked about as confused as possible, eyebrows furrowed, mouth agape. “What? Can’t do what?”
“This,” Jongho told him, knowing full well it cleared up exactly nothing for the man who very obviously blacked out the night before.
“What are you talking about, Jongho?” Mingi asked, frown deepening.
“It doesn’t matter,” Jongho mumbled, already heading for the doorway, cold coffee abandoned.
“Clearly it does,” Mingi retorted.
“Just—,” Jongho cut himself off with a deep breath as he hesitated two steps from the doorway. “Just leave it alone, Mingi.”
He made it two steps down the hallway before Mingi was behind him. “You don’t get to pull this dramatic bullshit. You’re not Wooyoung. What’s wrong, Jongho?”
Jongho spun around, anger bubbling up in him. Mingi didn’t get to do this now. Not after the last eight weeks of playing with Jongho’s heart. It wasn’t fair.
“Do you remember anything about what happened last night?” He snapped, staring down the hallway with his hands clenched at his sides.
“What I do isn’t your business,” Mingi countered coldly, posture stiffening.
“It is because I’m the one dealing with your sorry ass when you stumble back in here at three in the morning so drunk you can’t even work a fucking door,” Jongho was on the edge of shouting. “What do you remember?”
Mingi blinked in confusion. “I went to the frat. I told you that as I was leaving. We had a good time, I played some beer pong. Well I guess lost some beer pong would be a better description. And then, I—I think I played a round of kings? Did some shots with Yunho. Wait, maybe I did the shots before we played kings. Or after? Maybe both?”
Mingi trailed off, concentration clear on his face as he stared off into the middle distance trying to gather his alcohol tinged memories.
“How did you get back here?” Jongho asked cooly.
“I— I walked?” Mingi didn’t sound too confident. “I think Yunho offered to call me an Uber but I don’t remember actually getting in one.”
“Right, and do you remember anything after you got home?” Jongho asked.
“N-no,” Mingi’s voice shook a little on the single syllable. “Just waking up in my bed like thirty minutes ago.”
Jongho wasn’t even sure why he was disappointed. He’d already known that would be the answer. Mingi wasn’t a good enough liar to be covering for himself, especially not when caught on his backfoot like this.
“I had to let you in the door. I had to make you drink water. I had to make you eat something. I had to put you in bed.” With each sentence Jongho stabbed himself in the chest for emphasis. “Because you were so stumbling, stupid, fucking drunk you could barely stand, let alone operate a fucking key. And what was my fucking thanks?!”
Mingi didn’t say anything, but there was a look of panic growing on his face as he stared at Jongho from the other end of the hallway.
“To have my fucking feelings played with for the eighth fucking Friday in a row!” Jongho spat at him. “Do you know you propose to me every time you’re stupid drunk?!”
Jongho stared him down, demanding an answer. The world narrowed to the width and length of the hallway between them. Only his angry breaths filled the space between them for a long moment.
“Propose what?” Mingi asked in a small voice.
“Marriage!” Jongho shouted at him. “You sing my god damn praises and then ask me to marry you. For the last two fucking months it’s the same damn thing. You go out, get drunk off your ass, stumble back in here and I don’t even know— pretend you’re in love with me or something while I’m trying to make sure you don’t end up fucking dead!”
“I do?” Mingi sounded so lost but Jongho was too far gone in his own anger to care.
“Yes!” Jongho shouted down the hallway at him.
Mingi gaped at him, mouth opening and closing stupidly. When it became clear no response was forthcoming, Jongho turned on his heel and stormed into his room. If he shut the door a little harder than necessary, that wasn’t his problem. He flicked the lock and then collapsed onto his bed, willing the tears gathering not to fall. He gathered fistfulls of the sheets as he fought the urge to scream like a child.
What a mess.
Why was he even disappointed?
⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹
“Oh come on, Jongho!” Yeosang groaned from where he was laying on Jongho’s bed. “It’ll be good for you. You’ve been mopey all week.”
“Have not,” Jongho countered childishly, not looking up from the textbook he was pretending to study.
“It’s just a small thing,” Yeosang said.
Jongho looked over his shoulder to raise an eyebrow at his friend. “Wooyoung and San’s parties are never small.”
“Well small for them,” Yeosang admitted. “Besides, Mingi already said he’s not going.”
Jongho huffed. “I don’t care.”
“Right, right,” Yeosang waved a hand at the ceiling. “We’re not talking about Song Mingi. We’re not even thinking about him.”
Jongho turned back to his desk to glare at his textbook. He hadn’t said two words to Mingi since the shouting in the hallway on Saturday. Nearly seven full days of not talking to his roommate. In fact he’d barely seen the guy. Though in all honesty, he wasn’t sure which one of them was doing the avoiding. Personally, Jongho had been spending most of his free time either in the library or the gym. But even when he was home he only heard Mingi moving about their apartment late at night or early in the morning, if he even came home at all. San had let slip that Mingi had crashed with Yunho a few times this week.
He didn’t care, he reminded himself. What Mingi did was his own business. Jongho didn’t care where he slept or what he did. He shouldn’t care.
“But it’s Friday night!” Yeosang broke through Jongho’s thoughts. “It’s been a while since you’ve come out with me. Please Jongho! It’ll be good for you to have a distraction that isn’t homework.”
“If I agree, will you stop whining?” Jongho asked with a sigh.
“Yes,” Yeosang said firmly.
“Then fine, I’ll go, but just for a few hours.” Jongho flipped his textbook shut.
Yeosang cheered as he swung himself off the bed. “Now to pick out your outfit!”
Jongho groaned. “Sang, please. Can’t I just go like this?”
Yeosang looked him up and down, clear distaste for Jongo’s black button up and jeans ensemble on his face.
“No.”
Thirty minutes and six outfits later, Jongho was suitably dressed for Yeosang’s taste. Or has he phrased it, “Oh yeah, you could pull any ass in that.”
“I’m not trying to ‘pull ass’.” Jongho told him with air quotes.
“Right, right. But we should keep an open mind,” Yeosang told him as he pushed Jongho out his bedroom door. “See where the night takes us and be willing to take new opportunities. Especially if they’re hot opportunities.”
Jongho rolled his eyes but didn’t bother trying to argue. It wasn’t worth it when Yeosang was in this kind of mood. He wouldn’t win, so it was just easier to let Yeosang think he won. With Yeosang on his heels, Jongho walked the short distance down the hallway and into the empty living room.
Or the living room he thought would be empty.
“Oh,” Jongho said as he stopped short. “I didn’t realize you were here.”
Mingi looked up from where he was sprawled out on the couch, phone in hand. “Yunho had to help get ready for the party.”
“Surprised you’re not there already then,” Jongho told him, not bothering to keep the icy bite out of his voice.
Mingi shrugged, expression a little subdued. “Don’t feel like partying today. Thought maybe we could play a game or something. Haven’t really seen you all week.”
Before Jongho could say anything, Yeosang stepped around him. “Jjongie’s going out with me.”
“Oh,” Mingi looked crestfallen for a moment but quickly schooled his expression into something closer to neutral. “Have fun, I guess.”
“We will,” Yeosang told him firmly. “Come on, Jjongie. Black sneakers.”
“Okay, okay.” Jongho put up his hands to ward off any more of Yeosang’s onslaught.
Even as he slid on the requested shoes, Jongho couldn’t help peeking up at Mingi. Their eyes met for a moment but Mingi quickly looked away looking a little guilty.
Whatever. Jongho didn’t care what Mingi thought. That was going to be his mantra for the night.
⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹
One moment the door was in front of him, essential for his stability and general uprightness, and the next it was gone and Jongho was tipping through empty space. Instead of the hard impact he was expecting, his face collided with something firm but still soft. Mesmerized, Jongho brought his clumsy hands up to get a better feel of whatever he had landed on.
“Let’s not do that.”
The voice seemed to come from just above him. Curiously the thing under his face rumbled along with the voice. Intrigued, Jongho wrestled his muscles into cooperating enough so that he could push himself away from whatever he was leaning on. It took a moment but eventually the face came into focus.
“Mingi!” Jongho joyfully greeted his roommate.
“Where’s Yeosang?” Mingi asked, looking much more concerned than Jongho thought the situation called for.
As Jongho shrugged, he realized his hands were braced on Mingi’s pecs. So that’s what they felt like. It was nice to finally know after so much wondering.
“Jongho,” Mingi sounded serious. “Where’s Yeosang? Did he let you walk home alone like this?”
“Yeosang didn’t let me do anything. I make my own decisions." Jongho told him with a frown.
“I’m gonna kill him,” Mingi mumbled. “Come on, let’s get the door shut.”
“Don’t be upset with Sangsang,” Jongho told Mingi, resisting Mingi’s urging to move. “He doesn’t know.”
“Doesn’t know what?” Mingi shook his head. “Can you walk, Jongho? We can have this conversation in the kitchen.”
“Watch,” Jongho pushed away from Mingi and took a step to walk around him.
Or he attempted to but it was like he was trying to walk on the deck of a boat in a thunderstorm. The whole floor rolled underneath him, causing him to tip and sway unsteadily.
“Okay, yeah, so that’s a no,” Mingi said as he caught Jongho around his waist. “Yeosang is so dead.”
“I told you,” Jongho whined as Mingi forcibly pulled him further into the entry way. “Sangsang doesn’t know.”
“Doesn’t know what?” Mingi huffed as he reached back to shut the door. “That you’re drunk as a skunk?”
Jongho shook his head and immediately regretted it as the whole world spun. “Doesn’t know I left. I snuck out.”
He leaned heavily against Mingi as he urged him towards the kitchen. One foot in front of the other, it seemed simple enough but for some reason his toes kept catching on his own heels. Silly feet not listening.
“Jongho,” Mingi sounded like a disappointed parent. It was kind of funny. “Why did you do that?”
“I was bored,” Jongho said as Mingi deposited him in a kitchen chair. “And sad.”
Jongho let himself flop onto their stupid, ugly kitchen table, one arm stretched out in front of him, cheek pressed against the fake wood veneer. The world still felt a little like it was spinning but it was better like this. It felt less like he was going to fall out of the chair.
“Why are you sad?” Mingi asked as he turned on the faucet, cup in hand.
At the sight, Jongho couldn’t help but start giggling. The whole situation was so ridiculous. They’d been here before but everything was reversed. Well, almost everything.
“What’s so funny, giggles?” Mingi asked, glancing over his shoulder.
“It’s the same but not,” Jongho told him.
“What’s the same?” Mingi asked, looking even more confused.
“You and me,” Jongho said as Mingi put the glass of water in front of his face. “But reversed.”
“How so?” Mingi was crouched next to him.
“You’re me. And I’m you,” Jongho broke off into more giggles.
Mingi furrowed his brow. That wasn’t how Mingi was supposed to look. Mingi was supposed to be happy, smiley. That was Jongho’s Mingi.
“I’m not following, Jongho.”
“I guess that means I should be the one proposing.” Suddenly Jongho’s happiness slipped away from him, leaving nothing but the bone deep sadness he’d felt all week. “Except I can’t. Because I’ll mean it and you never do.”
It hit him all at once. Laying on their terrible kitchen table that was always vaguely sticky no matter what Jongho did, with Mingi crouched next to him looking so very concerned, tears started pricking at the corners of his eyes and Jongho was powerless to stop them. It felt like a tidal wave of sadness washed over him and suddenly Jongho was crying. Not pretty crying either, big ugly sobbing tears. Jongho squeezed his eyes shut but that did nothing to stop the crying. He pushed his face into his arm, trying to hide from Mingi.
“I don’t expect you to understand,” Jongho managed between sobs. “Why would you? You don’t feel the same way. You’re not crushing on your roommate.”
“It’s okay, Jongho,” Mingi tried. “You don’t have to explain.”
Pathetic, he was such a pathetic mess. Mingi’s hand was on his back, rubbing soothing circles. and Jongho guiltily let himself enjoy the feeling.
“I just—,” Jongho was broken off by a sob. “I didn’t ask to feel this way but how could I not. You’re so kind, and good, and caring, and funny, and gorgeous! I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
The words were coming fast now. He felt powerless to stop them as they poured out of his mouth.
“I thought I would be okay. Just never mention it. Or do anything. I know you don’t feel the same way.” Jongho continued to babble into his arm. “And it was fine all last semester. But then you started with the proposal thing. And I know you meant it as a joke because you were drunk but it still hurt. Hurt so much to hear you talk about me like that, like you wanted me, and know that it was a lie. That you didn’t see me as anything more than a friend even as you asked me to marry you every fucking Friday.”
His heart hurt so much. That was the only thing Jongho knew for sure. His heart hurt, Mingi didn’t love him back, and the kitchen table was still fucking sticky. The deep, soothing whispers didn’t stop even as Jongho continued to cry, tears soaking his face. The hand didn’t leave his back, just kept rubbing firm circles as sobs wracked Jongho.
Eventually the sobs turned to little hiccuping noises and the tears stopped coming quite so thick and fast. He picked himself up off the table a little. With rough, clumsy swipes, Jongho tried to dry his face. Gently his hands were pushed aside and replaced with the scratchy kitchen towel.
“There we go,” Mingi whispered as he pulled the towel away. “It’s okay, Jongho.”
Jongho blinked at Mingi for a moment, his expression was so tender and soft. He could feel the choked, crying feeling building again. He didn’t want to cry again. Not here. Not in front of Mingi.
“I should go to bed.”
Mingi nodded but reached for something on the table. “Drink this first.” He held up the glass of water.
“Mingi,” Jongho whined.
“You’ll thank me in the morning.”
With a grumble, Jongho snatched the glass and downed the whole thing as quickly as he could. He pulled the empty cup away from his mouth with an exaggerated ‘ah’.
“There.” He said firmly as he put the cup down. “I’m going to bed now.”
“Do you want a snack?” Mingi asked, not moving from his spot next to Jongho.
Jongho sighed, shoulders curling in on himself. “I want to go to sleep and I want to believe I won’t remember any of this in the morning. That’s all I want.”
Mingi stood up. “Okay, brush your teeth for me and then you can go to bed. Deal?”
Jongho stared at his outstretched hand for a moment but finally said, “Deal.”
He didn’t take Mingi’s hand though. With determination he stood up under his own power and made his way to the bathroom. Even if he banged off the walls a few times, Mingi let him stumble without touching him. He did hover close though, hands a hair’s breadth away, ready to catch him if Jongho truly lost his balance. In the bathroom, Mingi snatched his toothbrush and toothpaste before Jongho could.
“Here,” Mingi handed him the toothbrush now with a dab of toothpaste. “I know you could have done it but I didn’t feel like cleaning up toothpaste at one in the morning.”
Jongho grumbled but accepted the toothbrush. With too much force and no finesse, Jongho brushed his teeth, one hand clinging to the counter. Mingi stood in the doorway, Jongho could see him through the mirror but he pretended he couldn’t. After he finished, he pushed past Mingi unsteadily. Mingi trailed after him from the bathroom to his bedroom.
“Don’t you want to get changed?” Mingi asked as Jongho climbed into bed, still fully clothed.
“No.” Jongho pulled the blankets over his head. “I did what you wanted, leave please.”
Mingi didn’t say anything but Jongho could hear him moving around his room. The sound of the blinds being pulled shut. A moment later there was the soft tap of something being put on the floor next to his bed.
“Just in case,” Mingi muttered.
A few more steps and then Mingi whispered, “Good night, Jjongie.”
The tears started again as soon as the door clicked shut.
⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹
Trepidation ran cold in Jongho’s veins as he crept down the hallway. If it wasn’t for the pounding in his head, the way his mouth felt like cotton, and his sour stomach, he would be seriously considering walking out their front door and not stopping until he hit the goddamn pacific ocean. Unfortunately the after effects of the third round of shots he’d allowed Wooyoung to talk him into and the jungle juice Yeosang had been not so subtly topping his cup up with were in full force. So here he was, hoping against hope that the kitchen was empty and he could get a cup of black coffee and a piece of very plain toast in peace.
As he peaked around the corner, those hopes were utterly and completely dashed. Mingi was sitting at the table, properly dressed, with a white cardboard box in front of him. As soon as he heard Jongho, he looked up with what Jongho could only describe as a hopeful look on his face. Too late to back out now, Jongho tried to step into the kitchen as confidently as he could manage. Which, given that he felt like a walking corpse wasn’t exactly as much as he would have liked.
“I made coffee,” Mingi told him in the carefully even voice he only used when he was deliberately trying to hide his emotions.
Jongho tried to suppress the way that set him on edge as he gave Mingi a small nod and made his way over to the coffee pot. Was Mingi going to try to let him down easy? Explain that while he was flattered Jongho felt that way about him, he didn’t reciprocate. If that was the case, Jongho would really just prefer that they didn’t discuss it at all. They could just ignore it. He’d done a good job of not acting on his feelings for months now. They didn’t need to let one little drunken mistake ruin that.
“I got croissants from that bakery you like,” Mingi said from behind him.
“The almond ones?” Jongho asked without thinking as he stuck the coffee pot back on the stand.
Mingi hummed an affirmative. “Also plain because I wasn’t sure what you’d be up for this morning.”
Tears pricked at the corners of Jongho’s eyes and he hastily blinked them back. This was the kind of thing that had Jongho falling for Mingi in the first place. He was so thoughtful, so caring. Even when he was planning on breaking Jongho’s heart, he was thinking of Jongho’s well being. It was so kind it hurt, pricked at Jongho’s skin like rose thorns.
“Oh, thank you,” Jongho forced out.
The coffee was in the mug, the pot was back where it belonged, with the handle turned to be as unobtrusive as possible, Jongho was out of excuses not to turn around and look at Mingi. With a deep breath, he forced himself to turn around. He hoped Mingi wouldn’t notice how tightly he was gripping the mug. For a moment, they just stared at each other across the small room, the scent of coffee and streaming daylight between them. Jongho searched Mingi’s expression for any clue to what the other man was thinking but came up empty. All he could really tell for sure was that Mingi wasn’t angry. There may have been a touch of hope in his eyes but Jongho wasn’t stupid enough to let himself believe that.
“Sit down, Jongho, please?” Mingi asked softly. “I just want to talk.”
“Don’t need to sit to hear you,” Jongho retorted.
“Jongho, please,” Mingi begged, voice laced with soft desperation. “I just— I just want to understand. Please, just help me understand, that’s all I’m asking.”
“Understand what?” Jongho asked, not moving towards the table at all.
Mingi hesitated for a moment, fingers twitching against his mug. “You said something last night that made me think I’ve been hurting you in a way I didn’t know was an option.”
Jongho knew what he had said last night. Unlike Mingi every Saturday morning for the last two months, Jongho hadn’t been granted the peace of not remembering. But there was something about the way Mingi was speaking that nursed the little spark of hope Jongho tried to keep dampened at every waking hour. Mingi was looking at him so earnestly, Jongho didn’t want to believe he was going to hurt him. Again. That he truly didn’t know he’d even been doing it to begin with.
Tension seeping out of Jongho’s shoulders, he pushed away from the counter and moved to sit across from Mingi. He set his coffee down and pulled the pastry box closer to himself. Mingi watched silently as Jongho plucked out a plain croissant and settled back against the chair.
“If you’re trying to let me down easy you’re going about it in a very weird way,” Jongho told him.
“I’m not—,” Mingi sighed, eyes dropping closed for a moment. “Jongho, have you ever heard the expression ‘out of the mouths of babes and drunkards’?”
For a moment Jongho just stared at him with narrowed eyes. Mingi just stared back, patiently waiting for Jongho to speak.
“No.” He ripped off one end of the croissant and stuffed it into his mouth.
“Right, okay.” Mingi’s cheeks looked suspiciously pink but maybe it was just a trick of the light. “The second half of that expression is ‘comes the truth’.”
It felt like his brain was working at half speed. He felt like Mingi was trying to give him the pieces to something important. Like there was some grand conclusion he was supposed to be coming to but couldn’t quite reach. He mulled the expression over as he chewed slowly. Maybe if his brain didn’t ache so much he wouldn’t be struggling this hard.
“Is this about what I said last night?” Jongho asked. It was the only thread he could pull that seemed like it would make any sense.
“Kinda?” Mingi cocked his head to one side. “But it’s also about what I’ve been, apparently, saying while drunk for the last few weeks.”
“What you’ve been saying?” Jongho repeated. “The whole—”
Jongho broke off waving the croissant vaguely at open air, not quite able to voice it again. Once had been hard enough.
Mingi ducked his head, a little bashful. “Yeah, the proposal thing.”
His thoughts felt sticky, like they were soaked in molasses. They moved sluggishly through his head. The edges of one concept slow to align with another. Mingi clearly wanted to tell him something. That much Jongho could figure out, what exactly that was he couldn’t quite put his finger on. The last of the croissant was finished as he tried to fit the concept of Mingi’s repeated drunken confessions together with the idea that babies and drunks told the truth. He kept coming up empty.
“Mingi, please,” Jongho begged as he rubbed at his temples. “My head is pounding. What are you trying to tell me?”
“I’m trying to say that I meant it. Everytime,” Mingi said, still slightly cryptic. “I was drunk, and I don’t actually remember saying it, but if you said I did, I believe it’s what’s been happening and I meant it.”
“Meant what? That you want to marry me?” Jongho stared incredulously across the table at him.
“I mean maybe not immediately but maybe we could,” Mingi’s voice was fading, getting softer as he spoke. “Go on a date some time.”
Jongho felt like his entire world had just shifted a few degrees on its axis. Mingi wasn’t interested in him. Mingi didn’t flirt with him. Mingi didn’t touch him. Mingi didn’t treat him as anything more than a good friend and roommate and now he was suddenly asking him on a date. What was Jongho even supposed to do with that?
“A date? But you don’t even like me.” Jongho muttered, half to himself.
“What?” Mingi seemed genuinely shocked.
Jongho blinked at him for a moment. “You flirt with all our friends. You’re always, like, touching them and laying on them or whatever. But you never do any of that stuff with me.”
“Because it doesn’t mean anything when I do it with them!” Mingi exclaimed.
Slowly a realization dawned over Jongho. Quietly he asked, “But it would with me?”
“Yes,” Mingi whispered back. “It would.”
“Oh.”
The axis shifted another few degrees. Jongho’s cheeks were getting warm as he stared across the table at Mingi. His roommate, his friend, his crush, liked him back. Enough to want to go on a date with him. Enough that every drunken proposal was in a very roundabout way a confession not some sort of twisted joke.
“I figured you’d never look at me the same way,” Mingi said quietly. “I was trying to just forget for a few hours.”
Jongho snorted. “What a way to go about that. Getting black out drunk every Friday for weeks on end.”
“Didn’t even work anyway apparently,” Mingi retorted with a bashful smile.
“Not like it mattered.” Jongho chuckled. “I couldn’t figure it out, even with you basically handing me what I wanted to hear.”
“So you do?” Mingi asked softly, peering at Jongho with hopeful eyes.
“Do what?” Jongho asked.
“Like me.” Mingi clarified.
Jongho could feel himself blushing for real now. “I thought I made that obvious last night.
“What if I just want to hear you say it sober?” Mingi asked with a cheeky smirk.
Jongho held his gaze. “Yeah, I like you, Mingi. A lot.”
“Oh.” The smirk was replaced by an adorably bashful expression as Mingi ducked his head a little.
“Yeah.” Jongho hadn’t felt this shy with Mingi in a long time.
Hesitantly, Mingi asked, “So if I wanted to take you on a date, like to that art gallery you were talking about the other day, you would want to go?”
Jongho smiled at him. “Any day where I didn’t let Yeosang and Wooyoung talk me into drinking way too much the night before, yeah, I would love to go on a date with you, Mingi.”
Mingi grinned at him like a fool, but Jongho couldn’t judge him because his own smile felt like it was equally huge. When Mingi was looking at him like that, with soft eyes and obvious affection, Jongho wondered how he ever thought Mingi couldn’t possibly like him back. It seemed so simple, so easy with all the pieces lined up in front of him, their edges neatly aligned. It had all been right there, in front of him this whole time, he just hadn’t seen it. That was alright, he could see it now. That was what mattered in the end.