Chapter Text
Seungmin
“I feel like we should have dressed up a bit,” Seungmin admitted as he stepped over the threshold of the Italian restaurant.
Seungmin had been all for leftovers and a hot shower, but the rest of the guys had decided that good food at the new restaurant down town was just the way to end an exhausting day. Between the three of them they’d racked up four arrests during their shift, and all that ruckus had taken place beneath Miami’s sweltering summer sun.
He scanned the modern, slightly quirky décor appreciatively. He came from a home that valued art, and even though he’d gone the way of law enforcement, he still had an immense appreciation for creators and their contribution to the world.
Hyunjin scoffed beside him, earning a raised brow from the waiter leading them to their table. “C’mon,” he chuckled, nudging Seungmin with his elbow. “Sure, we’re not wearing fancy suits. But these uniforms?” He winked, “They turn heads.”
From the rear, Jisung agreed, “Yeah, we can pull off that fancy-schmancy vibe with these.” He patted his recently earned Sergeant insignia on his upper sleeve.
Their reassurances – and a few admiring looks from the other patrons – put Seungmin at ease as they slid into a booth. With his stomach rumbling he immediately began flipping through the menu.
“You ever have regrets?” Jisung asked pensively as he munched on a bread roll.
Seungmin frowned, “About the job? Nah.” He’d grown up with Jisung and Hyunjin, rolled around with them since he was in diapers. At some point, games of cops and robbers had turned into serious ambition to be a part of the police force. They’d decided on that together too.
Jisung nodded, “Yeah, about the job. I have them sometimes, y’know?”
Both Seungmin and Hyunjin stared in surprise. Hyunjin was the first to speak with a dry, “Bro, you just got promoted.” He laughed, “Didn’t see any regret on your face when you were shitfaced after that little celebration.”
Jisung grimaced in a way that worried Seungmin. If Jisung really had regrets, if he left the force for whatever reason… It wouldn’t change their friendship, obviously. But Seungmin hated change in general. He just… found adjusting difficult.
“I mean…” Jisung didn’t get to finish because his eyes were widening as if he was witnessing a robbery just over Seungmin’s shoulder. “Hey, Min, you said Chan’s at a conference this weekend, right?”
Seungmin swivelled around, trying to figure out what Jisung was seeing. “Yeah, he'll be back tomorrow night. Why?”
Hyunjin rose to his feet, “Bastard.”
Seungmin blinked in surprise, “What’s going on?”
“There,” Jisung gestured, “behind the two old women.”
Seungmin craned his neck and his blood ran cold. Oh shit. Oh fuck. Oh no.
“I’m gonna beat his ass,” Hyunjin declared.
“No,” Seungmin said in a rushed whisper, “sit down. Both of you, sit down.”
“Seungmin, I swear to God…” Jisung punched his fist into his palm. “That – that fucker just kissed someone else. He’s holding someone else’s hand. For fuck’s sake, let me kick his ass.”
Seungmin blurted, “I know about that. He’s not cheating on me.” It was a statement that got both Hyunjin and Jisung to slowly sit back down in their seats.
“Explain,” Jisung demanded, clenched fists resting on the table.
Seungmin sat with his head in his hands. The three of them were best friends yet he’d kept this secret so closely guarded. He knew he’d have to tell them at some point. Just… not so soon.
“I’ll start from the beginning,” he told them.
The beginning. He supposed that was when he’d met Chan. Chan had been fresh out of medical school. He’d been doing his residency in the same hospital where Seungmin had been taken after breaking his arm during training at the academy.
The attraction between them was instant. Magnetic. And Seungmin found himself making poor excuses to take a trip to the emergency room every so often. Chan eventually took it upon himself to invite Seungmin out for coffee – in the hospital cafeteria. But the filter coffee wasn’t really a problem when the company was so great.
They clicked. One date led to several more, and soon, neither of them wanted to spend a night apart. They liked each other a lot. And then they loved each other. The wedding announcement a year after they met wasn’t a shocker to either of their families, and their friends had already predicted it might happen.
They were perfect together. Perfect spouses living in the perfect house, loving each other perfectly. Even the sex was – for lack of a better word – perfect.
And then two years later, Chan confessed something that broke the illusion of perfection. BDSM was… It was out of Seungmin’s comfort zone. He didn’t know how to feel about Chan being a – a submissive? Even those terms were foreign to him. And any research he did scared him. The pictures that showed up on the search engine weren’t enticing – to Seungmin at least.
There was nothing that Seungmin could possibly do but accept Chan as he was. It hurt, first, because Chan had kept that side of him hidden for Seungmin’s sake, and second, because Seungmin could never give Chan what he needed. But Seungmin loved him, and so he wasn’t going to let Chan’s needs tear them apart.
There were places, Chan said, where one could go to find like-minded people. Seungmin allowed it – Chan couldn’t be happy otherwise.
Chan had been with Minho for around six months now, much longer than he’d been with any of his other play partners. Apparently it was difficult to find someone who matched well. Seungmin really didn’t know about any of that. He didn’t know what it was about Minho that made him match well with Chan, and he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t a question that sometimes kept him up at night.
Seungmin tried to remain impersonal. The most he’d done was wave at Minho from a distance. He’d rejected Minho’s requests on social media. He just wasn’t interested in getting to know him. Chan saw Minho every Wednesday, and every second weekend. What they did, did not concern Seungmin. He hated to hear about it. One of the conditions he’d put forward before accepting Chan’s lifestyle was that he wanted nothing to do with it.
“So you see,” Seungmin told his dumbstruck friends, “he’s not cheating.”
They didn’t look convinced.
“If it’s just a… a BDSM thing they have going on,” Jisung folded his arms across his chest, “why the hell are they on a date?”
Seungmin rolled his eyes, “It’s not a date. They’re just… eating.”
“Seungmin,” Hyunjin said slowly and gently as if explaining to a child, “they’re at a fancy restaurant. They’re eating, yeah. But they’re also holding hands and kissing. That’s a date.”
Seungmin tried to ignore the knots that his stomach began tying itself into – one knot for every point Hyunjin made. Maybe this was why he’d avoided telling his friends. Not because they’d judge him but because… they’d voice the concerns he was too afraid to admit to himself.
“No,” he denied. “They’re… they’re not like that.”
He swivelled around in his chair, watching them. Chan laughed at something Minho said. His dimples were deep crescents. Minho swiped his finger over Chan’s lower lip and Chan lowered his head of curly, blonde hair, his cheeks pink.
Seungmin had never seen them like this. It struck him that he’d never seen them together at all. Was this what it was like whenever they were together? But it wasn’t supposed to be like that, was it?
“I don’t feel comfortable here anymore,” he admitted, embarrassed. “Can we leave, please?”
“Just say the word,” Hyunjin said, rising to his feet. “He’ll never see daylight again.”
“Hyunjin,” Seungmin warned. He sighed in defeat, “Let’s just go, okay?”
Chan
“Are you sure that this is what you want tonight?”
It both frustrated and warmed Chan that Minho had asked him that very same question at least four times since they got back from the restaurant. He took a deep breath and nodded again.
“Words, Chan,” Minho insisted. “I need to hear you.”
“I’m sure, Sir.”
Unsmiling, Minho touched his cheek lightly and nodded towards the bed, “On your back.”
Bare bodied, Chan clambered onto the bed, positioning himself as he was directed. From the corner of his eye, he watched Minho – still in his boxer-briefs – lift up the lengths of rope that had been on the table when Chan entered the playroom. It wasn’t the soft rope they usually used, Chan noted; it was the kind of rope that he’d seen in his grandparents’ barn. The rope wasn’t thick, but if Chan pulled, it would rub against his skin and hurt.
Minho’s fingers lithely ran over the coil of rope, a considering expression on his face, “This isn’t going to be an easy night for you. But you’re going to enjoy it. I know how long you’ve wanted this.”
Chan’s heartbeat escalated. He felt a shot of heat rise up from his groin through his chest to burn in his cheeks. He flushed a deeper shade of red when his cock thudded against his belly.
Minho didn’t remark on Chan’s eagerness. Instead, he said, “I want to hear your safeword before we begin.”
“Unicorn,” Chan answered immediately, almost breathlessly.
Finally, Chan was going to get what he’d been pleading for since they’d met six months ago. He’d begged Minho to break the frozen surface of the numbness that constantly enveloped him. He wanted to be able to feel the depth of what teemed just below the ice.
Minho had wanted to move slowly – to crack the ice and not shatter it. But Chan wanted to be shattered. He was surprised and relieved that Minho had given in.
Minho loomed over him, “Good boy. Let’s begin.”
He bent Chan’s left leg up to his chest and used his shoulder to hold it there as he tied Chan’s left wrist to his ankle. The rope was itchy and dug into Chan’s skin. Minho shifted his bent leg out and then used another rope behind Chan’s knee to bind it to the headboard. He repeated those bindings on the right side.
Chan was spread helplessly on the bed. His hard cock and ass was open to whatever Minho had planned for him.
Minho’s hand ran up the length of Chan’s thigh as he admired his own handiwork. Chan’s pulse beat fast with the rush of excitement and dread of being so vulnerably exposed.
“Pull on the ropes.”
Chan obeyed. The ropes dug into him but gave him almost no leeway with his body. He could hunch slightly, or use his stomach muscles to lift his ass a little, but he was otherwise held in place.
“Good,” Minho smiled as he ran his hands over Chan’s body. The pads of his thumbs flicked Chan’s nipples. He turned towards the table set up beside the bed. He lifted the blindfold, “I want you to be loud tonight,” he told Chan, placing the blindfold around his eyes. “I want to hear every sound you make.”
Chan nodded, “Yes, Sir.”
The darkness behind the blindfold was complete and Chan allowed himself to embrace it. He breathed in and out, waiting for something to happen. He could only hear the sound of Minho stroking himself as he looked down at Chan. He could imagine how enticing he looked to Minho – bound, blindfolded, naked, hard. Chan tried to remember what else Minho had left out on display when he’d entered the playroom. He recalled the tight coil of the whip on one of the tables. Was Minho going to use that on him tonight?
Chan flinched when Minho trailed his fingers over his cock and gripped his balls. Chan went very still as Minho increased the pressure. Soft whimpers left his lips. Then Minho slid thin, rough rope over Chan’s balls. His pulse throbbed in his ears as Minho circled it around his sac, separated his balls and pulled the rope tight enough that Chan gasped. Chan could feel the rope being crisscrossed up his aching cock, the straw-like texture rubbing into him.
Minho tied it off underneath the head of Chan’s cock. Then an unexpected, sharp pain raked through Chan from the tip of his cock, shuddering through his abdomen and up to his throat, where it left his mouth in the form of a pained yell. He began to breathe heavily, only realizing once he’d calmed down that Minho painfully flicked the head of his trussed up cock with his finger.
Minho continued, flicking Chan’s balls one after the other. Chan cried out, his muscles going taut and his asshole tightening up. This. This was what Chan had wanted. But could he handle it?
Minho seemed to read his self-doubt. “It’s alright, Channie,” he whispered in his ear. “You’re so strong. You can handle it. I know you can.”
Chan shivered, and when Minho kissed his mouth, licking gently at his lip and soothing him, his fingers tracing Chan’s jawline, he wished that he could wrap his arms around Minho and hold him tight. Instead, Chan tried to relax his body in his restraints. He wanted to be good for Minho. He wanted to show Minho – and himself – that he could handle this.
Minho pulled away and came back with a slick hand on Chan’s cock. He rubbed lotion up and down over the rope. Chan squirmed, the sensation weird and uncomfortable. The rope hurt as his cock expanded under Minho’s ministrations and the sharp threads dug into his tender skin. His balls drew tight and ached where they were restrained. Then Minho began to vigorously work a place beneath his cockhead that felt out of this world. Chan groaned and tossed his head. He squeezed his eyes shut under the blindfold. Fuck.
The sensation built and built, riding through him until he was sure he was going to come, “Sir – Sir I—” he shouted a warning to Minho who kept on rubbing him. He tensed and braced himself for his oncoming orgasm when suddenly Minho let go of his cock and flicked his balls again.
Chan screamed. Minho grabbed a fistful of his blonde hair and kissed him through it, swallowing all the noise that Chan let loose. Pain, disappointment and relief flooded through him. When he could breathe again, he began to feel Minho’s fingers toying with his asshole. He pushed against those fingers, needing them inside him.
Minho chuckled and pulled them away. Then he kissed Chan’s nose, dimples, ears, and his lips. “You’ve been so good, Channie,” he praised. “But that was the easy part. Are you ready for more?”
Chan swallowed hard and nodded eagerly, desperately. “I’m ready, Sir. Thank you.”
Chan heard a sound that could only be leather sliding on leather, and then he felt the cold braid on his stomach. Minho slid it over him slowly, giving him a chance to feel it and anticipate just how much it was going to hurt.
“This is a quirt,” he told Chan. “Ever heard of it?”
Chan shook his head. When Minho’s movement stopped, Chan hastily added, “No, Sir.”
Minho began to move the braid over his body again, “Back in the old days it was used to train horses or drive cattle. It’s designed for… thick skinned animals.” Chan’s heart began to thunder against his chest. They’d only used floggers and riding crops; whips had always been up for discussion but Minho had wanted to save them for later. “It’s got these three long lashes at the end that sting, and there are knots at the end of them that bite. Chan, this will mark your skin. It will hurt you. You will scream. You will beg for me to stop. Do you remember your safeword?”
Chan had sunk into a divine place of terrified and thrilled expectation that he couldn’t speak or move. It wasn’t until Minho touched his cheek and repeated his question that Chan could muster the word, “Yes.”
He didn’t know how long he could stand the anticipation. He could feel it simmering beneath his skin, about to burst. He wanted to feel the whip against his skin, but not knowing when it would bite into him, not knowing where it would fall, or just how much it was going to hurt, was pure agony. He shifted against the silk sheets, tugged lightly on his restraints and whispered, “Please, Sir. Please.”
Minho lifted the quirt from Chan’s stomach and placed a hand on Chan’s outstretched left knee, “Hold very still. Do not move.”
The first lash was hard. Fire raced over Chan’s ass where it landed along the line of his buttocks and thigh, just under his balls, close enough that the pain seemed to ricochet into them and rage up his entire body.
Chan didn’t know why he thought that Minho would start off soft, but the realization that Minho was actually going to hurt him with the whip, rocked him down to his bones. He put up a struggle in earnest, pulling at the ropes, trying to kick with his feet, screaming his head off in an urgent need to fight his way out of the moment.
Minho let him struggle; he gave Chan the time to weigh how much he could handle and whether he needed to use his safeword. There were no words of comfort, no soothing touches, just a patient silence.
Chan finally shuddered and heaved, collapsing. He surrendered to the fear, to the pain, and breathed in and out. Minho touched his arm then, sliding down to secure the ropes a little tighter. Then there was the terrifying sound of the whip cutting through the air, and three biting knots tore across the back of Chan’s right thigh, then his left, and then across his ass.
Chan yowled like a dog. He cursed and yelled and screamed at the top of his voice. The safeword was there, poised on the tip of his tongue, ready to stop his agony. But he didn’t want to use it. He wanted more.
Minho began to count each lash, but Chan could hardly hear his words over the sound of his own begging and sobs. His pulse rushed in his ears, his heart beat loudly and wildly. His skin was seared with strips of fire, his ass burning. It was awfully painful, but so beautiful. So right.
“You okay, Channie?”
The words lagged in Chan’s ears, and he only processed them a few seconds later. His answer was a slurred, “Yes, Sir.”
Minho raked his fingers through Chan’s hair, now wet with sweat. He cleaned Chan’s nose, wiping away the snot from when he’d been crying.
“You’re doing such a good job, Channie.”
Chan hiccupped a small sob, “I am?”
“Oh, my angel,” Minho sighed. “You have no idea.”
Chan met his eyes, warming at the adoration in them, “Can you tell me again?”
Minho smiled, “You’re doing an amazing job, Chan. You look beautiful. And you’re so, so strong.”
Chan responded with another sob, “Thank you, Sir.”
He felt the bed dip and Minho settled below him. His hands soothed over Chan’s ass cheeks and he blew gently on his hole. Shivering, Chan moaned at the sensation of Minho’s tongue lapping over his hole. Licking, tickling, shoving in, fucking into him. He squirmed on it and tried to get Minho’s tongue in deeper but Minho pulled away.
“Ready for more, Chan?”
Chan perked up at that, his breaths speeding up again. “Yes, Sir.”
Minho made that noise Chan only heard when he was very, very excited. “I’m going to raise the pain level now.”
Chan had no idea what that could mean, given the amount of pain he’d felt with the few lashes he already received. And then Minho began.
Chan never knew such pain existed. Sharp, searing, tearing, cutting, burning. Sounds filled the air; Minho’s grunts every time he brought the whip down, and Chan’s screams every time he felt the whip cut into his skin. He struggled against his restraints and they only brought him more pain.
Minho took hold of his leg, and then a short, fast strike landed against his bound balls. Pure, roaring agony consumed Chan. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move.
And Minho was right there, “Are you doing alright, angel?” He lifted the blindfold off but Chan kept his eyes shut. His body was trembling and covered in sweat. “Open your pretty eyes and answer me.”
“I’m okay, Sir,” Chan’s eyes fluttered open, his lashes stuck together with sweat and tears.
Minho began to dab at his eyes with a tissue. He was calm and affectionate as he looked down at Chan, “You’ve been so amazing today. I think it’s time for your reward.”
A part of Chan revelled in the praise, but a part of him wanted more pain. He needed it. He needed to break through that ice.
Before he could beg for more, Minho leaned down and kissed him. He was gentle, his tongue moving sweetly along Chan’s lips and teeth. He kissed Chan’s neck, and each of his nipples. Then he began to untie the rope around his cock and balls.
Minho took Chan’s cock into his cool, lube slickened hand. Chan whimpered. So painful. So good.
“Does it hurt, Channie? Are you hurting?”
Chan whispered, “Yes.”
“What’s worse? The pain you’re feeling now? Or the pain you felt when you messed up?”
Minho didn’t have to elaborate on that. Chan knew what he was talking about. When he messed up… He remembered the rage he’d felt. He’d been so angry at himself. He’d hated himself — he still did.
But right now Chan couldn’t think of that pain when the pain he felt now was so prominent. “Now,” he realized out loud. “This is worse.”
Minho nodded in understanding. Because he did understand, and that just made their relationship so much better. Stronger.
Minho reached for lube, slicked his own cock, and then pressed into Chan’s hole. Chan groaned, clamping down on his lower lip as he took Minho down to the hilt. He could feel the muscles of Minho’s thighs flexing against the heat of his ass.
Minho took his mouth into a kiss as he began to thrust languidly. With every thrust, his hips smacked against the wounds left by the whip. Chan whimpered into Minho’s mouth, but Minho didn’t slow down; he sped up. He fucked into Chan hard and fast, grunting and pulling away enough to brush Chan’s sweaty locks away from his eyes. The pressure on his prostate made Chan see stars.
Minho whispered in his ear, “You beautiful, strong man. You’re taking this so well. I’m so proud of you.”
Chan moaned at the praise and Minho’s thrusts began to slow. He revelled in the way Minho cried out in pleasure when his orgasm ripped through him and he filled Chan with his cum. Chan could feel himself draw close too. But he couldn’t come without permission.
“Sir, can I? Please? Need… Need…”
“Need to come?” Minho had stilled inside Chan.
Chan nodded tearfully, “Please, Sir.”
“No.”
Chan’s heart sunk into his chest. He could feel the disappointment sit like a rock in his stomach. He didn’t understand. Minho said he deserved a reward. Minho said he’d been good. So why wasn’t he allowing Chan to have his reward? He whined when Minho pulled out.
“But I’ve been so good!” Chan cried, tears rolling down his cheeks. He knew he sounded childish, but he was desperate. “Please, Sir. I’ve been good! I’ve been good for you!”
“Oh, you’ve been more than good, angel,” Minho said with a smile before it morphed into that displeased face that had turned Chan on when they first met. “But you don’t get to decide whether that’s enough.”
“Please!” Chan sobbed, thrashing against the ropes. He begged, “Please, Sir! Please!”
Minho’s hand slid up to Chan’s cock, slowly, begrudgingly stroking him. “Come, Chan.” Two strokes were all it took.
Chan spiralled into an orgasm that pulled him into the deepest part of himself, so deep that he could see the fragments of his own sorry soul. He bellowed as he felt the quirt sting his ass again, and again. Pain meshed beautifully with the euphoria that engulfed him.
Minho had done it. He’d cracked the ice that had frozen Chan’s hurt for so long. He’d done it. Chan felt fear. He felt guilt. He felt sorrow. He felt humiliation. He felt so much self-loathing. Most of all, he yearned for forgiveness. All of those awful feelings were so much better than the numbness that had imprisoned him before.
He curled into Minho’s arms and cried.
Changbin
The large Victorian house stood at the end of a long gravel driveway with an elaborately crafted gate. The house looked majestic against the backdrop of twinkling stars and a sliver of the moon. Just two years ago, that beautiful house had been his home.
It always felt strange now, telling his colleagues that he was going to pick up something from “the house” rather than “home”. You’d think he’d have adjusted to the change over the past two years, but some wounds healed rather slowly, and even after they were healed, there was a gaping hole left behind.
He placed a hand over his heart as if he could feel that hole. The emptiness.
“Home,” he whispered to himself and then shook his head. He lifted his gaze to the second window on the third floor. The light was on. That was a sign enough that this was no longer his home.
He opened the door to his jeep. He’d come back some other time. Minho obviously had company.
He narrowed his eyes at the glare of lights as another car rambled down the driveway towards the gate. Minho was certainly a wanted man tonight. Who was this?
The man that jumped out of the Yaris looked slightly flustered as he took in the sheer size of Minho’s house. A first-time visitor then. Suspicious, and ever-protective of Minho, Changbin remained where he was, watching the man.
It was dark, but Changbin could make out the baggy t-shirt and sweatpants the man wore. His hair was ruffled as if he’d been lying on the couch and suddenly fancied a drive. He was taller than Changbin, his dark bangs parted to frame his eyes. He had a handsome face, Changbin thought. He carried a small gym bag which he clutched nervously to his chest.
“Who are you? Are you here to see Minho?”
The man jumped a foot into the air, looking at Changbin in surprise. It was a wonder how he’d been able to miss an entire jeep and human, both right beside him.
“Are you the security?”
Changbin snorted. He joked, “Even if I was, Minho wouldn’t be able to afford my fee.” He nodded towards the house, “I’m here to see Minho too. Just like you are.”
The man cocked his head to the side, his frown deepening, “Then why are you standing outside?”
Changbin glanced up at the third floor again, “He’s busy. We should probably come back some other time.” Changbin had interrupted Minho in the middle of his sessions before, and Minho had been pissed. He paused, “Unless he’s expecting you?”
The man looked down at his feet. He seemed embarrassed. “No, no, he’s not. But…” He gave Changbin a curious look, “How do you know he’s busy?”
Changbin jammed his hands in the pockets of his jeans and sighed, “See that window on the third floor? The light’s on. That means he has company.”
“Oh?” The man sounded dejected. “So, they’re… They’re busy?” He nodded to himself, “Yeah, I guess they’re busy, huh.”
Changbin narrowed his eyes, trying to gauge whether this person knew exactly what Minho was doing up there. He knew Minho wasn’t comfortable with complete strangers knowing about his lifestyle and Changbin didn’t want to spill any of his secrets.
“Look,” Changbin clenched his jaw, “just come back tomorrow, alright?” He placed one foot in his jeep, ready to head home.
“I can’t. I have to see my husband.” Changbin froze. Husband? Was Minho up there with this guy’s husband? The man bowed his head, his chin touching the bag that he still hugged to his chest. “I need to give him this. That’s all. His… His pajamas. He forgot to pack them.”
There was something pitiful about the man that tugged at Changbin’s heartstrings. Maybe it was the way he stood – hunched as if there was a massive weight on his shoulders. Or maybe it was how soft spoken he was; it wasn’t shyness that prompted his soft words, but when he spoke he seemed to doubt every word that left his own lips.
“Alright then, let’s call Minho,” Changbin pursed his lips and stretched out a hand to reach the intercom beside the gate.
“No, no, wait! Don’t!”
Changbin’s brows rose a fraction. “But the clothes…”
The man began to shake his head. He raked his fingers through his hair, gripping the ends in obvious frustration, “I shouldn’t even be here. I don’t know what I was thinking.” He moved towards his car, but then hastily turned to look at Changbin, “Please don’t tell them I was here. It’s – It’s embarrassing.”
Changbin was surprised to see the man’s eyes glistening with tears, “Alright. I won’t say anything.”
The man let out a sigh of relief and lifted a hand, “Thanks.”
Changbin resisted the urge to stop him from leaving. He really wasn’t a nosy person, but he felt a strange compulsion to hear this man’s story, to know what was causing all that pain reflected in his eyes.
He watched the car back out of the driveway, “Maybe we’ll meet again.”
Minho
Chan had just fallen asleep and Minho was just making sure that everything was locked properly when he decided to check the camera at the gate. It really wasn’t a surprise that Changbin was there to fetch something he’d been too lazy to take with him after the divorce.
But Seungmin… What was Seungmin doing there? Seungmin had shown no interest in meeting Minho. Minho had begged Chan to convince Seungmin to just meet for a cup of coffee so they could introduce themselves to each other. But Chan said Seungmin was adamant about not meeting Minho.
That was fine with Minho. He understood that some people liked to keep a distance in these kinds of arrangements. Still, he’d been disheartened that he’d never get to meet Seungmin. The most he’d been able to do was catch a glimpse of Chan’s husband when he went to their house to pick Chan up – which was rare, because Chan liked to drive himself; apparently Seungmin preferred it that way too.
His chest warmed with hope now that Seungmin stood outside the gate. He was about to tell both Seungmin and Changbin to come in when Seungmin turned to leave. Minho frowned. He wished that the camera had audio so he could have heard what the two men said to each other.
He sighed in disappointment when Seungmin left. Before Changbin could leave too, Minho pressed the green button, “Changbin, you can come in.”
Minho stood in the doorway, watching Changbin stroll up the path. He took his time, stopping to inspect the flower bushes that lined the pathway. Minho smiled. Typical Changbin.
He didn’t look too pleased when he reached Minho. He didn’t bother with pleasantries, “Daffodils, Minho? Whose idea was that?”
Minho scowled, “The gardening service. You know I have no time to think about flowers, Changbin.” Sure, there were people like Changbin who didn’t mind spending hours on end debating which type of flower suited the lawn best, but Minho definitely was not one of them.
Changbin folded his arms across his chest, head tilted up to the sky. He was definitely pissed off but Minho couldn’t understand why.
“Daffodils, Minho,” Changbin fixed him with a glare, “are harmful to cats.”
Minho’s heart sank and he felt a flash of panic, “So Kkochi…”
“If Kkochi decides to take a bite of one, he’ll get really sick.”
Minho rubbed the sides of his face, agitated. “The gardening service didn’t say anything. They didn’t…” He groaned. And Kkochi was a curious little cat too… “I’m an idiot. What should I do?”
Changbin’s gaze softened, “I’ll come by tomorrow after work. I’ll take care of it.”
Usually this would be when Minho pulled him in for a kiss. Minho couldn’t do that now. And honestly… He didn’t want to anymore. It had taken a while for his feelings – his love – for Changbin, to morph into this comfortable thing they had now. Of course he still loved Changbin. He always would. He didn’t think that would ever change. It just wasn’t a romantic type of love anymore.
“Thanks,” Minho reached out to squeeze Changbin’s hand, letting go when Changbin’s eyes lingered too long on their hands. “So, what brought you here tonight?”
Changbin gave him a sheepish grin, “I need the digging trowel from the garden shed.”
“You know,” Minho huffed, “you should probably take everything from that shed. It’s not like I use any of it.”
“That’ll take time,” Changbin waved away his suggestion. “Anyway, I’ll get going.”
“Changbin,” Minho stopped him. “The guy who was at the gate with you… Seungmin. What did he say? Why did he leave?”
Changbin stared at him for a long moment and then shrugged, “We were just talking about the weather. He didn’t say anything else.”
“The weather… Okay.” Minho nodded with pursed lips.
Minho may not have been the best husband, but he could always tell when Changbin was lying.