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The ride home is quiet. There isn't much traffic on the road, this late at night, especially when New Years is barely two days away. Most people in the city have left to travel back home, and Minghao's apartment is in a quieter part of town, anyway. There are sounds that accompany him - his manager's footsteps, the rustle of bags, the elevator's bell. And then, once his manager leaves, the click of the door shutting.
The silence that follows, envelopes him, weighing down on his shoulders. His feet drag as he goes to his room. Minghao pulls his phone out, swiping through the notifications. The Seventeen group chat is the first glaring red that blinks up at him. The unread messages have piled up and— Minghao, he's been busy.
At least that is what he'd say if anyone were to call him out on it.
He knows he doesn't have much leeway remaining now, with the 30th only an hour or so away. Still, he scrolls past it. Only to land on the second landmine, a personal chat with an equally intimidating number of red notifications. Seungcheol's pout in his profile picture, an otherwise cute selfie with Kkuma, seems to glare up at Minghao. His thumb hovers over the notification, quivering in the grip.
Minghao sighs. He transfers his phone to his other hand, flexes the one that had been holding it. Stretches his fingers out, curls them back in. He tosses the phone onto his bed and heads into his bathroom.
The one good decision he's made is making sure he has an apartment he can call home in both Beijing and Shanghai. The bathroom is stocked with his daily use products - both for bath and skincare. The towels and bathrobes hanging are soft, gentle on his skin. The comfort these bring after a long day of work is something that he's realised after years and years of being in the industry. The memory of travelling country to country, city to city, shifting from one hotel room to another, isn't as recent anymore; but it has taught him this well enough.
He takes his time with his night routine, even though he has a fairly early call time in the morning. In the shower, he lets each layer of body wash, shampoo, conditioner, treatment, strip him down till he feels raw. With his skincare, he allows them to settle into his skin, building himself up again until he feels human.
When he gets into his bed, there's an ease that wraps around him. The lights in the room feel warmer, comfortable. He opens and goes through the unread chats one by one.
The Seventeen group chat, particularly, has much to catch up on. Minghao scrolls past the small meet-ups that have been happening, photo dumps with multiple food pictures and selfies with faces too close to the camera. Jokes and banter follow, calls for another group meet-up, a full one. Minghao even finds himself being called out-
Seokmin's emoticon-littered, "Myungho-yah~~ (৹ᵒ̴̶﹏ᵒ̴̶৹) My Myungho-yah~!! I miss you ( ˃̣̣⌓˂̣̣ )"
There are messages agreeing, and messages that jokingly talk about how Minghao's now the busiest out of them all, too much a VIP to be able to come. And Minghao's not—not the busiest, when compared to others. Seokmin with his musicals, Seungkwan with all the shows he's a permanent cast on. Soonyoung together with them in their unit activities, and then as a solo artist on his tour, too. Minghao is, however, in a different country, unlike them.
He feels a yawning gap stretch across his chest. His fingers tremble the slightest as he tries to move past the messages. The slow tick-tock of the clock in his room sounds too loud now.
Breathe in, he thinks. The memories of the day he told the members about his decision to move on from the company - much before the re-signing talks even began formally - creep to the edges of his mind. Breathe out.
Breathe in. Endless discussions, back and forth. Back and forth. Till arguments simmer, boil, spill over the edges. The hot water hissing as it dissipates. Betrayal, hurt, resignation. Breathe out.
Breathe in. Days where his own native tongue felt foreign to him. Cities that he had to relearn his way around. Connections that had to be rebuilt, block by block. Support that was there and yet— Breathe out.
Minghao reaches the bottom of the chat, all caught up. He checks the time, just minutes before midnight in Seoul. Types out and sends a quick birthday message for Joshua, following it up with a half-hearted message of trying to make time to visit everyone soon. The number next to his messages switches from 12 to 11 almost frighteningly quick. Minghao's teeth dig down on his lip and he swipes out of the chat.
The next river to cross isn't even an option. Seungcheol's eyes are imploring in his profile picture. When Minghao clicks into the chat, he already sees three dots blink in and out. The not-at-all a mystery of who's online reading his message on the group chat solved. Before he can think twice about it, Minghao presses on the call icon.
There's a stutter in his chest, a breath filling up his lungs wrong. He lets it out brokenly.
"Myungho-yah." Seungcheol's voice is low, quiet. Warm.
"Hyung." The Korean feels almost foreign on his tongue. He clears his throat and tries again. "Seungcheol hyung." It rests easier, now.
"Mm, Myungho-yah. Long time, hm? You're back home?"
Minghao lets his eyes close, lets Seungcheol's voice settle into him, fill the cavity in his chest.
"Mm, rehearsals got over in time."
"You have a show coming up?" There's only the slightest hint of surprise in Seungcheol's voice. It's all that tells Minghao how absent he's been—and how much Seungcheol has grown, becoming even more perceptive, coming to accept how much he can know.
"Yeah," Minghao swallows, throat closing up, "New Years event. They've given me stage time for two solo songs, and one joint performance."
"Congratulations, Myungho-yah," Seungcheol says. Minghao can hear the smile in his voice. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter.
"Thank you, hyung."
"I guess this means you won't be able to join a New Years dinner." Seungcheol says it matter-of-fact, no further emotion attached. It stings Minghao all the same. "I'm still trying to plan another get-together, maybe mid-January, a belated celebration for Shua too, even if he hates being reminded of his age."
There's an open invitation here. Minghao doesn't need to open up his calendar to know how packed it is in January as well. "Hyung, I'm— sorry. I… I don't know if I'll be able to-"
"Myungho-yah."
Minghao breathes out. Hates how shaky it sounds, too loud and obvious. There's no way Seungcheol would miss it. Still, he tries to remain quiet around the silence that follows. Seungcheol's quiet breaths filling around Minghao's barely controlled exhales.
"It's okay, Myungho-yah. Give me your schedule. You won't come to see us- me- I understand. It's not on you, Myungho-yah, I'm happy for you. I am. But I want to see you. I can come."
Something lodges in Minghao's chest, pouring rapidly into the earlier growing hole, until its brimming till the edges. Lining Minghao's eyes wet.
"Hyung-" He chokes out.
"Please. Myungho."
"Okay." He doesn't trust his voice anymore. He trusts Seungcheol more than anything.
"Haohao, love you. Promise mom you'll come for dinner soon?"
"Of course, ma. I love you too."
"Fighting, my Haohao."
"Thank you, ma."
The video call ends with a quiet click, and the sounds of the backstage rush back into Minghao's ears. Jitters run along his veins. Minghao almost reaches to lick his lips, but then feels Xinyue's glare on him. A sixth sense. He digs his nails into his thigh instead, letting out a low, slow breath.
Seungcheol is supposed to come today. Aligning schedules is never easy, has never been easy. Seungcheol still managed to clear out time, and then Minghao helped with the rest - booking flights, taxis, arranging for a seat at the show, a backstage pass. He tried to ask Seungcheol about his preferences for hotels, presenting options near Minghao's own apartment, only to be both promptly cursed out and then whined at. Soft, cute, Seungcheol wheedling his way into staying at Minghao's — not that it took much effort at all.
"Xu Minghao! You're on stage in five—"
Before he knows it, Minghao's on the stage. The heat of the lights bleeds through his outfit, warms up his skin. There's a rush, a buzz under his skin, that he hasn't felt in a long time as he performs on the stage. The song thrums through him, louder, stronger. He feels in his element, dancing, singing, letting the crowd's cheers carry him on.
Minghao wasn't worried about the performance, not in particular. It's a significant opportunity, but his life these past few months has days blending into each other, hours melting into minutes into seconds. There's a routine that he has become used to, and as grateful as he is for being able to reach where he is now, there's a worry that lingers: is this truly what he wants?
A quieter, more hidden one that is— Did he make the right decision?
Still, on this stage, he feels more at home than he has felt in a while. Something reminiscent of memories of his time with the group. So he lets himself soak it in, letting the longing and comfort mix and mash until he can't tell either apart.
If he allows himself to admit it, eyes drinking in all of the audience, he knows why this feeling has come today. He looks for Seungcheol in the crowd, and doesn't find him. There are anyway too many people to recognise anyone individually. The thought, the knowledge, of Seungcheol being in the crowd is enough.
The feeling carries over even after his performance ends. Minghao rushes back to his dressing room - feeling human, alive, even as his body moves on automatic accepting the tissues, the water, the fan, from his support staff. There's a song on his fingertips, his body sings it, his heart beating too fast in his chest. He can almost feel the crazed grin that hasn't left his face since he stepped down the stage.
"Myungho-yah—!"
Minghao crashes into a soft, warm body. Sturdy and steady. It catches Minghao easily, arms wrapping around his waist, a chin hooking over his shoulder. An embrace that holds him tight, balances him and settles the earth back on its axis.
"Ge-" Minghao breathes out, hands gripping onto Seungcheol's shoulders. "Cheol- Coups hyung."
"Myungho." Seungcheol nuzzles into the crook of Minghao neck, his breath raising goosebumps along Minghao's exposed skin. "I'm here. Myungho-yah, you were brilliant, amazing."
Minghao squeezes tighter, breathes in and out. He's alive, he's present. The heat from Seungcheol's palms bleed into Minghao as they caress his back. Minghao presses his lips down onto Seungcheol's shoulder. This feels right, this feels like— happiness.
The drive back home is quiet, but comfortable. Seungcheol sits close to Minghao, thighs and arms pressed against each other. Minghao lets his head rest on Seungcheol's shoulder, leaning into him. He lets himself depend on Seungcheol again.
When he closes the door behind the both of them, Seungcheol sticks close. His soft breaths accompany Minghao's.
"I don't think you've showed this house before," Seungcheol says, his arm snaking back around Minghao's waist. He fits his chin on Minghao's shoulder and then twists to look up at Minghao, his big cow eyes gazing up. "Gimme a house tour?"
Minghao interlaces his fingers with Seungcheol's. "Of course, hyung."
They move forward, like one fused together alien entity.
"I liked you calling me ge, by the way," Seungcheol murmurs into Minghao's shirt.
Minghao smiles. "Of course, ge."
The house tour doesn't take too long, and Minghao shows Seungcheol the guest room as an option. The way Seungcheol grips tighter onto Minghao tells him that it isn't really an option. So they head back to Minghao's room, and then settle into their night routines.
There's a comfortable silence as they both get ready. But still, Minghao feels an energy linger under his skin. Words bubbling in his chest. If he skips through a couple of his night routine step, well, then- there's a different source of comfort today.
Minghao adjusts his room temperature, lowering it to Seungcheol's preference, and then puts on a set of silk pyjamas, foregoing his usual — no nightwear — tonight.
"Hyung," he says, begins, when they settle onto the bed. Seungcheol sits facing him, one knee folded, face open, welcoming.
Minghao closes his eyes. Reaches out for Seungcheol's hand, interlocking palm to palm. Looks at Seungcheol and continues.
"Hyung, I'm sorry. I… I don't even know where to begin." The cavity reopens. "I have so much to say, so much to apologize for. And I'm grateful, I'm so grateful for so many things and yet-"
Seungcheol's thumb rubs over Minghao's knuckles. Minghao looks down at the short-cut nails. There's a sheen over them that catches in the room's light. Minghao remembers taking, dragging, Seungcheol along for manicures.
"I don't even know when my Korean got so bad and- no, hyung, listen, it isn't what it used to be. So many things aren't. I know I need to still try, to adapt, to be better. I want to try and I… I…" Minghao feels his breath stutter, unsure of how to say more.
Seungcheol leans in, then, carrying an aura of warmth that encases Minghao. "Myungho-yah. Listen to me."
Minghao nods, leaning into Seungcheol's touch.
"It's okay, Myungho-yah. You know it'll always be okay. I'm always going to be here. Even if you try to jump out of the boat—or think you get left behind, by whatever cause—I'll drag you back in. You know that."
The longing cavity fills and disappears inside Minghao's chest at an almost record-breaking rate.
"I know that," Minghao repeats, at the press of Seungcheol's fingers into his cheek. "I do."
"Good," Seungcheol says.
Then, there's a soft press of lips against Minghao's own. His heart skips, lips falling open in a half-gasp. A gentle pressure, easy and ready to follow Minghao's lead. So Minghao goes, presses in and kisses Seungcheol.
Seungcheol curls his other hand around Minghao's nape and pulls him in closer. When they break apart, he rests his forehead against Minghao's. The smile on his face is blinding. Minghao finds himself matching it, slow but sure.