Ship/Member: seokmin/mingyu Major Tags: implied sexual content Additional Tags: angst, post-breakup, exes? to friends, situationships Permission to remix: yup
***
Ma tu ci pensi mai alle cose che io so di te, e che adesso non servono a niente? Do you ever think about the things I know about you, which are now useless?
Laughter lingers in the air, filling a room that feels too stuffed, too crowded for Seokmin’s liking, people surrounding him on all sides and making it hard to breathe.
Being friends with Mingyu feels exactly the same.
It’s been two years since their breakup—breakup, a big word for whatever happened between the two of them. They used to be friends, and a little more than that. They used to fuck, and a little more than that.
They used to hold each other in the dark, in beds, in cars, in small enclosed spaces that felt like embraces and never like traps, never suffocating. They used to embroider their names on dirty sheets, with unsure fingers that left red traces in their flesh.
It’s bitter, but Seokmin doesn’t know where to place his resentment, because there is no space for it in whatever relationship they morphed after that day—when Mingyu held him close and said “I think I fell in love,” and the with someone else was implied, never said out loud. It wasn’t necessary.
Yet Seokmin hoped, for a single second, for a single beat of his heart, that Mingyu would brush his hair and kiss him, and say something that would turn everything around, that would make all the nights spent together in the dark morph into another space, another type of relationship.
Hope is the poison of fools, and as foolish as Seokmin is, he's immune to it by now—taking small sips of it to build resistance over the years he and Mingyu spent circling each other, predators ready to pounce at the first sign of weakness.
At the time Mingyu’s words hurt, but he expected them, awaited them even, with bated breath and dread in his guts. When they finally came, Seokmin let out all the air trapped in his lungs, drowning in an ocean filled by expectations of his own making.
A simple “I’m happy for you,” came out his lips, sounding sure despite the hole forming in the middle of his chest, before getting up and opening the window of his room to let sunlight wash away whatever foolish desire was coiled in the darkness, putting roots where it shouldn't have.
Now the room is too stuffy, and Seokmin watches Mingyu’s fingers playing with Minghao’s hair at the nape of his neck, remembering the feeling of similar touches on his own skin.
The taste of words that never left his mouth is bitter on his tongue, when he swallows them down.
“Seok-ah,” Mingyu greets him, enveloping him in his arms as soon as they float into each other’s orbit. Seokmin hugs him back and smiles, asking idle questions about Mingyu’s life that he doesn’t really want to hear the answer to.
His eyes are easily drawn to where Minghao stands, chatting with a bunch of their common friends—waiting for Mingyu to walk back to him with the cocksureness of someone who’s never had any doubts about the words coming out of Mingyu’s mouth.
“I’m glad to see you came,” Mingyu says, and Seokmin wonders if he remembers when similar words were said when Mingyu was kneeling between his spread legs, Seokmin’s warm hands tugging at dark strands of Mingyu’s hair. Seokmin does, he remembers the wicked expression on Mingyu’s face, nothing like the polite smile he’s wearing now.
Seokmin smiles back, says “Likewise,” and wishes it was easier for him to learn to unlearn.
[FILL] learn to unlearn you
Major Tags: implied sexual content
Additional Tags: angst, post-breakup, exes? to friends, situationships
Permission to remix: yup
***
Ma tu ci pensi mai alle cose che io so di te, e che adesso non servono a niente?
Do you ever think about the things I know about you, which are now useless?
Laughter lingers in the air, filling a room that feels too stuffed, too crowded for Seokmin’s liking, people surrounding him on all sides and making it hard to breathe.
Being friends with Mingyu feels exactly the same.
It’s been two years since their breakup—breakup, a big word for whatever happened between the two of them. They used to be friends, and a little more than that. They used to fuck, and a little more than that.
They used to hold each other in the dark, in beds, in cars, in small enclosed spaces that felt like embraces and never like traps, never suffocating. They used to embroider their names on dirty sheets, with unsure fingers that left red traces in their flesh.
It’s bitter, but Seokmin doesn’t know where to place his resentment, because there is no space for it in whatever relationship they morphed after that day—when Mingyu held him close and said “I think I fell in love,” and the with someone else was implied, never said out loud. It wasn’t necessary.
Yet Seokmin hoped, for a single second, for a single beat of his heart, that Mingyu would brush his hair and kiss him, and say something that would turn everything around, that would make all the nights spent together in the dark morph into another space, another type of relationship.
Hope is the poison of fools, and as foolish as Seokmin is, he's immune to it by now—taking small sips of it to build resistance over the years he and Mingyu spent circling each other, predators ready to pounce at the first sign of weakness.
At the time Mingyu’s words hurt, but he expected them, awaited them even, with bated breath and dread in his guts. When they finally came, Seokmin let out all the air trapped in his lungs, drowning in an ocean filled by expectations of his own making.
A simple “I’m happy for you,” came out his lips, sounding sure despite the hole forming in the middle of his chest, before getting up and opening the window of his room to let sunlight wash away whatever foolish desire was coiled in the darkness, putting roots where it shouldn't have.
Now the room is too stuffy, and Seokmin watches Mingyu’s fingers playing with Minghao’s hair at the nape of his neck, remembering the feeling of similar touches on his own skin.
The taste of words that never left his mouth is bitter on his tongue, when he swallows them down.
“Seok-ah,” Mingyu greets him, enveloping him in his arms as soon as they float into each other’s orbit. Seokmin hugs him back and smiles, asking idle questions about Mingyu’s life that he doesn’t really want to hear the answer to.
His eyes are easily drawn to where Minghao stands, chatting with a bunch of their common friends—waiting for Mingyu to walk back to him with the cocksureness of someone who’s never had any doubts about the words coming out of Mingyu’s mouth.
“I’m glad to see you came,” Mingyu says, and Seokmin wonders if he remembers when similar words were said when Mingyu was kneeling between his spread legs, Seokmin’s warm hands tugging at dark strands of Mingyu’s hair. Seokmin does, he remembers the wicked expression on Mingyu’s face, nothing like the polite smile he’s wearing now.
Seokmin smiles back, says “Likewise,” and wishes it was easier for him to learn to unlearn.