Ship/Member: minghao/junhui Major Tags: vacation, depression/grief Additional Tags: suicidal ideation Permission to remix: please ask!
*
The waves are beautiful — tossing themselves into a frenzy, white caps at every peak. Minghao stares down from the side of the boat, transfixed, and imagines flinging himself downward to meet them.
“Sorry,” he says to no one as soon as he’s registered the thought, sick guilt rising up in the back of his throat. Next to him Junhui turns to give him a puzzled look.
“Sorry for what?”
*
Back at the hotel they split into their rooms — Chan and Soonyoung in one, Junhui and Minghao in the other. Junhui wants to order room service but Minghao’s stomach turns at the thought, anxious nausea seizing tight.
“I don’t want anything,” he says. Junhui blinks at him, then shrugs in acknowledgment as Minghao pushes himself to stand up, snatching a robe off the lone chair in the room and locking himself in the bathroom with it.
In the bathroom Minghao leaves the lights off as he feels for the tap, turning it on so he can let the rush of water lull him into a trance. It reminds him of when they were on the boat. With his eyes closed Minghao can imagine the waves.
He doesn’t know how long he stands like that, still and silent in the dark, letting the roar of the water tune out everything else. When he comes to the lights are on and Junhui’s hands are over his, guiding him to twist the faucet handle. The silence echoes in the empty space the water leaves.
“Oh,” Minghao says, blinking first at his own reflection in the mirror, then at Junhui’s. He can’t read the expression on Junhui’s face. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Junhui says. His voice sounds very light, as though he’s talking to a child. Like he sounds when he calls his little brother. He meets Minghao’s eyes in the mirror, gaze pleasant and calm.
Minghao looks away first.
*
They came up with the idea for the trip last year. There were so many places Minghao had wanted to go back then — museums, restaurants, landmarks. Everyone had made lists, and when they’d compared them he remembers laughing. His had been so long, and all Junhui had written was “swim.” Chan and Soonyoung weren’t much better, so Minghao was the one who had to do most of the planning. He hadn’t minded. He’d wanted to do it.
Ironic, now, that he isn’t actually enjoying any of it.
Minghao was supposed to drive today but they must have changed plans without him, because when they go out to the car Soonyoung slides into the driver’s seat without second thought.
“Chan-ah,” he calls through the open door, waving Chan over from where he’s been lagging behind next to Minghao. “Come help hyung with the GPS, will you?”
Chan huffs out a breath but he smiles, too, always pleased to be needed. He picks up his pace a little to hurry into the passenger’s side, immediately swatting Soonyoung’s hands away from the navigation screen to try to figure it out himself.
That leaves Junhui and Minghao in the backseat. Minghao opens the door behind Soonyoung’s silently, buckling himself in and immediately resting his head against the window. He’ll get sick in the back, probably, but he doesn’t say anything.
He can’t see the sea from here. He hopes they’re moving towards it.
*
“Hyung,” Chan calls from further up on the trail, waving Minghao forward. Minghao thinks about walking faster but his body doesn’t cooperate, his limbs awkward and heavy. Every step feels like being dragged.
“Hyung, do you want a drink?”
Minghao stops short next to Chan, finally, trying not to let on how his hands are trembling. The little shack off the trail has the usual drinks — omicha tea, hallabong ade. Chan orders the omicha and then turns toward Minghao expectantly.
“I’m not thirsty,” he says, forcing himself to watch the way Chan’s face falls.
“You have to drink something, though,” Chan says, a little hesitant after Minghao’s snippiness. “You can carry it for later.”
“It’ll be too heavy,” Minghao says, like that’s an excuse. Chan frowns, the closest to irritated Minghao’s ever seen him, and then turns back towards the woman behind the counter, who’s been watching their entire exchange with a flat expression on her face.
“I’ll have a water too, please,” he says, and Minghao can’t tell whether he’s imagining an edge to his tone. He’s smiling when he turns to hand it to Minghao, though, expression flattened back out to his usual pleasant neutrality.
Chan’s like that, though. He lets everything slide right off of him, easy as anything. Minghao’s the one with the jagged edges. On Minghao everything always snags.
They catch up with Junhui and Soonyoung where the trail winds around the cliff’s edge, the water blue and beautiful below, and Soonyoung waves at them energetically when Chan calls out to him, motioning them forward with wild gestures.
“You gotta come see this! Myungho, come look!”
Chan moves forward obediently but Minghao doesn’t go, his feet planting themselves and growing roots where they stand. He thinks of the day before, on the boat, that sickening urge to hurl himself forward. He doesn't want to be so close to the edge.
“Myungho?”
Soonyoung’s voice falters a little this time, confusion bleeding into his tone, but Minghao shakes his head and doesn’t move. He watches as Soonyoung stares at him, just far enough away that it’s hard to make out what’s on his face, feet not moving at all. Soonyoung turns, eventually, back towards where the land cuts away to the sea, and Minghao doesn’t think he’s imaging the slump of his shoulders.
He forces his eyes away from Soonyoung only to find Junhui staring at him, squinting to make out Minghao’s features from the distance. Minghao watches, breath stuck in his throat, as Junhui says something quietly to Soonyoung and starts to walk towards Minghao instead, hands stuffed into his pockets, posture easy.
“You missed it,” he says, voice perfectly casual. “Soonyoung thought he dropped his hotel key over the edge.”
Here’s where Minghao should laugh, he knows, but panic rises up inside him instead as he imagines falling like Soonyoung’s hotel key, crumpling on impact as the waves rose up to meet him.
“It was in his pocket the whole time,” Junhui says slowly, still squinting. He refuses to wear sunglasses — he’s going to get eye damage. Minghao’s always telling him.
Minghao nods robotically.
“That’s good,” he says distractedly, too focused on trying to force his heartbeat still.
Junhui pauses.
“Minghao — ” he starts, and Minghao’s eyes snap to his at the shift in his tone. The moment stretches out as they stare at each other. “Never mind,” Junhui says, finally, shaking his head with a smile. “Did you try Chan’s tea?”
Minghao shakes his head, mute.
“It just tastes like sugar water,” Junhui says, dropping his voice low like he’s telling a secret, and a startled laugh rises up through the sludge in Minghao’s gut, coughing its way out of him.
Junhui grins back, pleased, and he doesn’t try to say anything more.
*
On the last day of the trip that Minghao blinks back to himself, resurfacing in his hotel bed with a gasp.
“Oh,” Junhui says next to him, gaze flicking up from his phone screen for a fraction of a second before an insistent beeping draws him back. Minghao must not have slept too late — Junhui’s still wearing his pyjamas, hair greasy and flat against his forehead. “You’re awake.”
“I’m awake,” Minghao repeats, marvelling at how light his body feels as he pushes himself to sit upright.
“Do you still want to go to that museum today?” Junhui asks, not looking away from his phone, not sounding like he cares much one way or the other.
Minghao pauses, thinking about it. He thinks about how he planned everything out so perfectly last year, all the pieces cut to fit neatly into place only to be ruined by Minghao himself. He thinks about how he felt looking down at the ocean, beautiful and dangerous and strange. The way it made panic rise in his chest.
“No,” Minghao decides. “I want you to take me to the beach.”
*
For all his bravado he hesitates at the edge of the water, feeling it rise up to lap against where his feet pressed into the damp sand but refusing to wade in all the way. It’s not so scary like this, but when he looks out he can see the way the waves rise up like open mouths, threatening to swallow anyone in their path.
“Come on,” Junhui says, wading his way back in, soaked to the waist. He left Soonyoung somewhere out in the water, and Chan’s further back on the beach. It’s just the two of them. Minghao hesitates but Junhui reaches for him before he can argue, scooping him up in his arms so quickly Minghao can barely tell what’s happening.
The wave rises up again as Junhui carries Minghao towards it, its mouth opening wide, and Minghao cringes, bracing himself, as the water hits them like a wall. For a moment he can’t hear anything, can’t see can’t feel can’t think, and then —
Minghao splutters, coughing a little, as the water drips down his hair and his eyelashes. His shirt.
The wave didn’t swallow him at all. Junhui’s arms are still holding him tight.
“Fun, right?” Junhui grins up at him, skin warm against his where they’re pressed together.
Minghao’s eyes fill with tears, he can’t help it, but he doesn’t know if Junhui can tell. He can barely feel it himself.
[FILL] more land than water
Major Tags: vacation, depression/grief
Additional Tags: suicidal ideation
Permission to remix: please ask!
*
The waves are beautiful — tossing themselves into a frenzy, white caps at every peak. Minghao stares down from the side of the boat, transfixed, and imagines flinging himself downward to meet them.
“Sorry,” he says to no one as soon as he’s registered the thought, sick guilt rising up in the back of his throat. Next to him Junhui turns to give him a puzzled look.
“Sorry for what?”
*
Back at the hotel they split into their rooms — Chan and Soonyoung in one, Junhui and Minghao in the other. Junhui wants to order room service but Minghao’s stomach turns at the thought, anxious nausea seizing tight.
“I don’t want anything,” he says. Junhui blinks at him, then shrugs in acknowledgment as Minghao pushes himself to stand up, snatching a robe off the lone chair in the room and locking himself in the bathroom with it.
In the bathroom Minghao leaves the lights off as he feels for the tap, turning it on so he can let the rush of water lull him into a trance. It reminds him of when they were on the boat. With his eyes closed Minghao can imagine the waves.
He doesn’t know how long he stands like that, still and silent in the dark, letting the roar of the water tune out everything else. When he comes to the lights are on and Junhui’s hands are over his, guiding him to twist the faucet handle. The silence echoes in the empty space the water leaves.
“Oh,” Minghao says, blinking first at his own reflection in the mirror, then at Junhui’s. He can’t read the expression on Junhui’s face. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Junhui says. His voice sounds very light, as though he’s talking to a child. Like he sounds when he calls his little brother. He meets Minghao’s eyes in the mirror, gaze pleasant and calm.
Minghao looks away first.
*
They came up with the idea for the trip last year. There were so many places Minghao had wanted to go back then — museums, restaurants, landmarks. Everyone had made lists, and when they’d compared them he remembers laughing. His had been so long, and all Junhui had written was “swim.” Chan and Soonyoung weren’t much better, so Minghao was the one who had to do most of the planning. He hadn’t minded. He’d wanted to do it.
Ironic, now, that he isn’t actually enjoying any of it.
Minghao was supposed to drive today but they must have changed plans without him, because when they go out to the car Soonyoung slides into the driver’s seat without second thought.
“Chan-ah,” he calls through the open door, waving Chan over from where he’s been lagging behind next to Minghao. “Come help hyung with the GPS, will you?”
Chan huffs out a breath but he smiles, too, always pleased to be needed. He picks up his pace a little to hurry into the passenger’s side, immediately swatting Soonyoung’s hands away from the navigation screen to try to figure it out himself.
That leaves Junhui and Minghao in the backseat. Minghao opens the door behind Soonyoung’s silently, buckling himself in and immediately resting his head against the window. He’ll get sick in the back, probably, but he doesn’t say anything.
He can’t see the sea from here. He hopes they’re moving towards it.
*
“Hyung,” Chan calls from further up on the trail, waving Minghao forward. Minghao thinks about walking faster but his body doesn’t cooperate, his limbs awkward and heavy. Every step feels like being dragged.
“Hyung, do you want a drink?”
Minghao stops short next to Chan, finally, trying not to let on how his hands are trembling. The little shack off the trail has the usual drinks — omicha tea, hallabong ade. Chan orders the omicha and then turns toward Minghao expectantly.
“I’m not thirsty,” he says, forcing himself to watch the way Chan’s face falls.
“You have to drink something, though,” Chan says, a little hesitant after Minghao’s snippiness. “You can carry it for later.”
“It’ll be too heavy,” Minghao says, like that’s an excuse. Chan frowns, the closest to irritated Minghao’s ever seen him, and then turns back towards the woman behind the counter, who’s been watching their entire exchange with a flat expression on her face.
“I’ll have a water too, please,” he says, and Minghao can’t tell whether he’s imagining an edge to his tone. He’s smiling when he turns to hand it to Minghao, though, expression flattened back out to his usual pleasant neutrality.
Chan’s like that, though. He lets everything slide right off of him, easy as anything. Minghao’s the one with the jagged edges. On Minghao everything always snags.
They catch up with Junhui and Soonyoung where the trail winds around the cliff’s edge, the water blue and beautiful below, and Soonyoung waves at them energetically when Chan calls out to him, motioning them forward with wild gestures.
“You gotta come see this! Myungho, come look!”
Chan moves forward obediently but Minghao doesn’t go, his feet planting themselves and growing roots where they stand. He thinks of the day before, on the boat, that sickening urge to hurl himself forward. He doesn't want to be so close to the edge.
“Myungho?”
Soonyoung’s voice falters a little this time, confusion bleeding into his tone, but Minghao shakes his head and doesn’t move. He watches as Soonyoung stares at him, just far enough away that it’s hard to make out what’s on his face, feet not moving at all. Soonyoung turns, eventually, back towards where the land cuts away to the sea, and Minghao doesn’t think he’s imaging the slump of his shoulders.
He forces his eyes away from Soonyoung only to find Junhui staring at him, squinting to make out Minghao’s features from the distance. Minghao watches, breath stuck in his throat, as Junhui says something quietly to Soonyoung and starts to walk towards Minghao instead, hands stuffed into his pockets, posture easy.
“You missed it,” he says, voice perfectly casual. “Soonyoung thought he dropped his hotel key over the edge.”
Here’s where Minghao should laugh, he knows, but panic rises up inside him instead as he imagines falling like Soonyoung’s hotel key, crumpling on impact as the waves rose up to meet him.
“It was in his pocket the whole time,” Junhui says slowly, still squinting. He refuses to wear sunglasses — he’s going to get eye damage. Minghao’s always telling him.
Minghao nods robotically.
“That’s good,” he says distractedly, too focused on trying to force his heartbeat still.
Junhui pauses.
“Minghao — ” he starts, and Minghao’s eyes snap to his at the shift in his tone. The moment stretches out as they stare at each other. “Never mind,” Junhui says, finally, shaking his head with a smile. “Did you try Chan’s tea?”
Minghao shakes his head, mute.
“It just tastes like sugar water,” Junhui says, dropping his voice low like he’s telling a secret, and a startled laugh rises up through the sludge in Minghao’s gut, coughing its way out of him.
Junhui grins back, pleased, and he doesn’t try to say anything more.
*
On the last day of the trip that Minghao blinks back to himself, resurfacing in his hotel bed with a gasp.
“Oh,” Junhui says next to him, gaze flicking up from his phone screen for a fraction of a second before an insistent beeping draws him back. Minghao must not have slept too late — Junhui’s still wearing his pyjamas, hair greasy and flat against his forehead. “You’re awake.”
“I’m awake,” Minghao repeats, marvelling at how light his body feels as he pushes himself to sit upright.
“Do you still want to go to that museum today?” Junhui asks, not looking away from his phone, not sounding like he cares much one way or the other.
Minghao pauses, thinking about it. He thinks about how he planned everything out so perfectly last year, all the pieces cut to fit neatly into place only to be ruined by Minghao himself. He thinks about how he felt looking down at the ocean, beautiful and dangerous and strange. The way it made panic rise in his chest.
“No,” Minghao decides. “I want you to take me to the beach.”
*
For all his bravado he hesitates at the edge of the water, feeling it rise up to lap against where his feet pressed into the damp sand but refusing to wade in all the way. It’s not so scary like this, but when he looks out he can see the way the waves rise up like open mouths, threatening to swallow anyone in their path.
“Come on,” Junhui says, wading his way back in, soaked to the waist. He left Soonyoung somewhere out in the water, and Chan’s further back on the beach. It’s just the two of them. Minghao hesitates but Junhui reaches for him before he can argue, scooping him up in his arms so quickly Minghao can barely tell what’s happening.
The wave rises up again as Junhui carries Minghao towards it, its mouth opening wide, and Minghao cringes, bracing himself, as the water hits them like a wall. For a moment he can’t hear anything, can’t see can’t feel can’t think, and then —
Minghao splutters, coughing a little, as the water drips down his hair and his eyelashes. His shirt.
The wave didn’t swallow him at all. Junhui’s arms are still holding him tight.
“Fun, right?” Junhui grins up at him, skin warm against his where they’re pressed together.
Minghao’s eyes fill with tears, he can’t help it, but he doesn’t know if Junhui can tell. He can barely feel it himself.
Tears are only salt water, after all.
Just like the ocean.