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Stillness shrouded the world as Jisoo fought back his tears and recounted everything he had done just over an hour ago, the taste of red wine still bitter in his mouth and the fresh piquancy of betrayal heavy on his tongue. He wished for a moment of silence, a time for himself to ponder what led him to do what he did and didn't, to relish in his thought process, and to stomp the guilt bubbling in his stomach. But it seemed to him that his consciousness was the only one in abeyance as he felt the sensation of movement stopped, forcing him to open his eyes and face the fact that the city around him continued its midnight dance; the cars zoomed across the streets, and the lamp posts flickered like the unseen stars above the cloud-filled sky.
"We're here, sir," his driver informed politely, the hint of worry at the edge of the older man's voice squeezing his thudding heart slightly, "It seems like Mr. Lee is, too. Will you be okay for tonight?"
"Of course," he answered, chuckling as he shook his head clear and joked about his boyfriend being too smitten to get mad over a couple of unanswered calls, choosing to ignore the way his driver didn't crack a smile or huff out a laugh while he continued dismissing his doubts away, "Seokmin has a short temper but not to me. I'll be fine. I've been fine for over eight years."
"If you're certain," his driver breathed out, beaming back at him as he dropped the subject. After a minute and two of going over their schedule for the next day, Jisoo was guided out of the car and was left in the lobby of his condominium alone, the silent departure of the older man barely registering in his mind as he found yet another moment of tranquillity to drown himself in.
He could call a cab and spend the night in a hotel somewhere uptown, buy himself more time to honestly think about what he almost did and what drove him to even consider doing it in the first place. But his feet, like they have a mind of their own, had already moved, dragging him toward the elevator in the center of the building, the idle sound playing inside the lift reminiscent of the jazz band that performed in the gala, he found himself in moments ago.
The memory sat heavily on his shoulders, and as much as he hoped the remorse that came with it would go away, he was sure it would haunt him for the rest of his life. A tailored suit that clung to a body that felt new and foreign under his touch, the smell of strong sandalwood and spice lingering with every inhale he took; Jisoo gritted his teeth and leaned on the cold wall of the lift, undoing the tie around his neck in haste as felt his skin crawl at the recollection of honeyed laugh and sweet nothings whispered in his ear.
Liquid courage dissolving from his system, better judgment screaming obscenities at the back of his mind, he stumbled out of the elevator and allowed another minute to compose himself. He thought no one could blame him for doing things he felt he needed to do to eliminate the melancholy eating away at his insides. But it was one thing, the voice inside his head, to attend a party and wear his most expensive suit doused in luxurious perfume to drink with his friends and to plan to spend the night on another man's bed was another.
"You didn't do it," he whispered in the air, righting himself up and pushing his body away from the wall that supported his weight while he justified his actions while he tried making sense of the emotions that grew rampant and violent underneath his flesh and inside his ribcage, driving him on the brink of complete derangement and deluding him into thinking that it was within his right to violate his vow of loyalty in a relationship that, in his defense, had stopped becoming a relationship and started feeling like an arrangement void of sincere veneration.
Jisoo was no cheater; he convinced himself that he wasn't. Beyond dancing chest to chest and exchanging fleeting glances, despite his clear intention of ending the night with something sensual and raw, he didn't act on what he had been thinking for a week; his exchanges with the man in the gala, dark umber eyes blazing with want and hands hot and roaming, remained amiable and innocent enough to grant him deniability if Seokmin was to hear of his night in the gala from their friends; he spent most of the evening in the company of his peers, left the ballroom with his driver and went home to him, to his lover.
He wasn't guilty of anything but ignoring Seokmin's phone calls, reminding himself of his boyfriend's faults in the past to make himself feel better, to make himself insert his key to their apartment without fumbling and breaking down in tears. But any semblance of bliss and serenity he found through the memories of his lover falling short had disappeared, his heart sinking to his stomach at the image of his other half sitting in their small dining room, two empty plates and champagne flutes arranged on their table with unlit candles littering their countertops; the smell of stew simmering on the stovetop wafting through the air, the scent of sandalwood entirely flushed from his system.
"What's all of this?" he asked, eyes stinging when Seokmin continued typing on his laptop, not even bothering to look up from the screen as he explained that he was hungry, so he thought of cooking, thought of surprising him with dinner; a gesture that had his mind reeling because for one, his boyfriend hadn't done anything like that for years, and two, the knowledge of the other man waiting up for him when he could've eaten without his presence, it shouldn't have delighted him as much but like a teenager, he blushed. "What's the occasion?"
"It's not our anniversary, so stop looking like," Seokmin stopped mid-sentence, giving him a once-over before closing his laptop shut. Shuddering at the sudden attention, Jisoo couldn't help but swallow hard, the tips of his ears burning, the emotions he tried corralling inside his chest spilling over his whole system. The other man was still clad in his slacks, his white polo tucked with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows; Seokmin was a wet dream that came to life, and Jisoo couldn't stop waxing poetics in his mind. "Why weren't you answering my calls? Too busy charming the crowd downtown?"
"N-no," he managed to stammer out, the butterflies that had woken up from their slumber retreating to their caves when Seokmin stood up, stalking toward him in confident strides. Jisoo blinked, entranced and frozen by the display of apprehension in front of him; it shouldn't bewitch him, the way Seokmin sneered and looked at him with controlled rage, but he couldn't help but revel in those emotions. His lover looked better like that, he mused, rather than emotionless and stoic. "I was dancing with Minghao and his fiance. I didn't- I didn't hear my phone ringing."
"Is that right?" Seokmin breathed out, his eyes searching and his tone mocking. They stood so close that Jisoo could feel the warmth radiating off the other man, smell the mint and tobacco from his breath, and sense the indignation from his every inhale and exhale. His lover shook with it, his enmity palpable in his gorgeous brown eyes, fists clenching and unclenching on his sides. For a moment, Jisoo thought he had somehow made known of what he tried to do the evening, of the sin he almost committed. And Seokmin never once hurt him with his hands, never once bruised his skin that wasn't out of pleasure, but that evening, he thought that he deserved it.
But the punch didn't come, and his body remained untouched; the breath he didn't know he was holding rushing out of his lungs and unto the space before him, throat constricting when he whirled around to see Seokmin stirring the rich stew on a silver pot before turning the stovetop off. The silence between them was not an unfamiliar friend, but that night, it covered them like an acquaintance, perhaps even a foe, slipping its fingers around his neck and strangling him until he was lightheaded.
He stood rooted on his spot, and Seokmin did the same. And it took a lot in him not to close the distance between their bodies, to not walk to where his lover was hunched over, wrap his arms around his middle, and rest his cheek on his back. Jisoo could coax the other man into talking, to get his walls down even just for the night but at that second, he felt like he didn't have the right, that in his moment of weakness, he had lost jurisdiction over his boyfriend's truth.
One, two, three, Jisoo counted; there was a time when their apartment was a home and not just a shell of what they used to be. In the kitchen where they currently stood, not facing each other, they once danced until the room was spinning, held each other until the sun had risen, sheathing them with its warm and soft glow, never for a second untangling their limbs and lips away from one another. Laughter and confessions of love rung inside his head at the memory, and even after years had passed, he could still vividly recall what it felt like to be twenty-one and truly in love.
"Is there something you want to tell me, Jisoo?" he heard Seokmin ask, the hoarseness in his voice, the broken tone of his question catching him slightly off-guard. Ache blossoming like flowers inside his chest, he breathed in and out in an attempt to not entirely fall apart right then and there; the other man sounded so vulnerable, so aghast that when the guilt and shame he tried to bat away earlier came hurtling at him in waves, he allowed himself to drown.
"Is there something you want to know?" he drawled out, grimacing when his sentiment came out like a whimper. Lump forming at the base of his throat, the slimy fingers of silence that had him chokehold before had transformed into a knife plunged deep in his stomach, dread and regret filling his veins, cold and metallic, entirely unprepared to see the anguish in his lover's face when he finally turned to face him.
Gone were the mean lines on his face and the rage that turned his features sharp and hostile, and in their place was a look of pure helplessness that reminded Jisoo of their first fight when they were twenty-three and didn't know any better. He had raised his voice, and Seokmin looked at him in disbelief, silence brewing between them as they stared at each other with guilt and sadness and a promise of never again fighting over something so trivial.
"Do you still love me?" Seokmin mused, holding his gaze steady, unmoving from where he stood, guard down and emotions laid open for him to see. Jisoo felt tears on his cheeks even before he was aware that he had started crying, and through his blurred vision, he could almost see the eighteen-year-old Seokmin, who captured his heart the second he opened his mouth and made the whole room laugh in delight. Every word that came out of him was like poetry that drew Jisoo in, every smile like a painting worth his life tenfold.
Lee Seokmin radiated joy wherever he went, a beacon of youth and a remembrance of summer spent in Italy. Jisoo was enamored, caught between his web of charms and boyish grins, trapped by the warmth of his embrace and coy wit. People flocked wherever the other man sat, hung on to every thought coming out of his mouth, and entertained his requests, no matter how idiotic they were, without hesitations.
Boys and girls swooned, and more and more people fought to be in his inner circle at the university. And Jisoo, the timid boy that he was, never once thought that it would be him that the other man would seek after. To him, it didn't make sense for Seokmin to shower him with affection and read him stories he found fascinating, but to others, it was almost expected. He was wealthy; that was what the others mumbled behind their hands. His family's lineage had given him a significant advantage that boosted him greatly to be Seokmin's number one.
In the height of clamoring accusations, despite not caring one bit, Seokmin had professed his infatuation toward him publicly, shutting down rumors of their families arranging the relationship for power by reciting poems that had his toes curling, saccharine voice echoing around the study hall, words of sincere adoration of love making his cheeks red and his heart thump; to say that Jisoo had grown smitten was an understatement because the love that soon overflowed in his chest had became immense, and at twenty-one, he asked Seokmin to live with him.
"You do love me, huh?" he remembered Seokmin marveling, and it was so easy to assure him that he did back then. How could he not love the other man? In their two years of friendship, he had been nothing but reliable and supportive, often motivating him to study just as much as he did and making sure that even in the middle of finals, he was still having fun, his feeling growing fonder and stronger after another year of Seokmin courting and romancing the living daylights out of him.
They were a happy couple, and their bond was envied by many; Seokmin continued being the perfect boyfriend anyone could ask for, and Jisoo remained starry-eyed and in love. But between the years of pursuing their respective careers and keeping the flames of their relationship alive, the meals they promised to share had become nuisances from their work, and the anniversaries they would usually fret over had become just another day in the calendar.
And the promise of never fighting over something so frivolous had started fraying like a loose thread, unraveling throughout the years until their relationship was nothing but a skeleton of what the public perceived them to be; perfect.
"I just don't understand why you're throwing a fit over this," he couldn't help but remember Seokmin hissing, getting rid of his reading glasses and tossing them to the side, nose flaring and the softness of his voice turning frigid. It wasn't the first time he had seen his boyfriend mad like that, but it was the first time, he thought, that he felt his heart breaking over it.
"Is it that hard for you to pay attention to me? Just this fucking once?" he recalled asking, his lungs burning and chest aching with blinding pain. Jisoo didn't want to cry that time, but it was difficult not to when his boyfriend looked so annoyed and perturbed by him. "I got a promotion, Seokmin. You know how important this is to me."
"I congratulated you already, Jisoo. I bought you flowers, and fuck! Do you want attention? Fine," Seokmin huffed, and no matter how many times Jisoo tried to forget how insulted he felt that night, he couldn't seem to let go of that feeling. Shrinking whenever he remembered Seokmin throwing his laptop on the floor before resting his chin on his hand, arm propped on the table between them. "Alright, tell me all about it, come on. Fuck my work, and fuck my meeting tomorrow. Let's make this night all about you."
"Fuck you," he whimpered, rubbing his eyes and wiping the tears that had slid down his cheeks. Choking on his sobs, he stood up and shook his head, telling the other man to return to work before leaving their room.
"See, I don't know what you want me to do!" Seokmin yelled from where he left them, and Jisoo really did want to call his driver and be dropped off at his parent's house that night, his whole body shaking as he felt his boyfriend trail before him.
"I want you to ask about my day, Seokmin!" he screamed just as loud, tonguing his cheeks as he tried to stop himself from crying so damn much, but it was so painful, he remembered, his heart was hurting too much for its cries to not spill past his mouth. "I want you to ask me what I did and where I went, and I want you to listen."
"You do the same shit every single day. What's the point?" Seokmin heaved, hair tousled and eyes wild; he looked so distressed, so out of it that Jisoo almost felt bad for causing the fight, for not being content with the flowers that shrouded their whole apartment with its sweet scent. "I know you bought coffee and shopped for new shirts because you used my card. I know you batted your eyes prettily enough to get your proposals approved. Is there new, Jisoo?"
"I got promoted, Seokmin. And it made me so happy," he mumbled under his breath, vision hazy but not blurred enough to not notice the rage in Seokmin's face from melting into something more somber and soft. He reckoned that the other man was probably tired, already prepared to forgive his boyfriend even before he could apologize. But before all that, he gathered his courage and swallowed another sob, asking the other man, "Do you still love me?"
He was the first to ask that question, and their quarrels would always stop when one of them would drop the question and the other would say yes. They never talked about why they fought or apologized for their faults. There were just things, they probably both thought, that were better left unsaid. Seokmin had never once laid a finger on him, nor did he toward the other. Over time, their fights had become less and less fueled with rage and had simmered down to silent standoffs, a battle of who would cave in first, and a battle he almost always lost to.
Jisoo didn't want to let go of Seokmin, and perhaps that was one reason they couldn't stop the exhausting cycle they found their relationship in. There were times, of course, when he would think about breaking it off. He had spent far too many nights crying on his bed alone and spent too many days eating lunch by himself with no one to talk to about his day. But every time he found the courage to even ponder over it, Minghao would gush over him and Seokmin and wish he and his boyfriend would live as happily as they did.
As much as he loathed to admit it, he lived for the praises he and Seokmin would receive whenever they attended parties together. Bearing their parents' last names gave them a certain kind of power over any crowds; they danced with each other, ducked their heads, and spoke in hushed tones between languid kisses. They had become one, if not the most admiral couple uptown, the darlings of anyone's eyes, all smiles and confident affections, starry eyes fixed on one another.
But the thrill of being adored and kissed in public could only soothe Jisoo's heart to an extent. He couldn't gripe over being paraded around like a trophy when he did the same to Seokmin, dragging him around different social gatherings and allowing men and women to ogle on their public display of affection, letting anyone who would listen know of how they fell in love and how they managed to stay with each other for so long, and tastefully leaving out terrible rows that led to rough sex and even rougher mornings after.
Seokmin had never hurt him physically, but Jisoo would sometimes wonder if someone was to rip him open, how many cuts and bruises would they see?
A particular fight happened around their sixth year together, leaving a gaping hole in his heart, a wound that he tried so hard not to think about. Still, he could feel it every single day and night, could feel it growing, and could feel it oozing with grief that would sometimes render him lonely and irate, incapable of looking at Seokmin and not lashing out, to tell him why he was being 'such a bitch’ for the nth time.
'It was his father's birthday,' he wanted to scream and yell, make Seokmin remember the fight that haunted him for so long because it couldn't be just him. He refused to be the only one tormented by that particular incident. Jisoo could recall it so vividly, could describe the emotions he felt and the words he and his lover spat at each other, could retell the story over and over again, of how they sat in traffic for hours and missed his father's birthday because of Seokmin's inability to put him first.
"How are you mad at me over this?" Seokmin grumbled under his breath, and Jisoo really would've let it slide, would've easily brushed it off to the side, but at the sound of his boyfriend's mean chuckle and nonchalance, he couldn't help but see red. "Am I the one that caused this damn traffic?"
"I told you we needed to leave early, but you didn't listen," he gritted his teeth, eyes already burning from the tears he was trying so hard to hold back, breathing already uneven as he did his very best not to reach out and smack the living daylights out of the other man; he was better than that. "We wouldn't get caught in the middle of the evening rush if we didn't stop by your friend's gallery."
"How can we not?" Seokmin retorted, obviously offended. Jisoo didn't need to look at him to know that the easy smile on his mouth had vanished entirely. He refused to turn his head and prove himself right because, at the moment, he didn't know what to do with the fact that he really knew Seokmin inside and out. "He's your friend, too. The least we can do is congratulate him."
"We had prior arrangements," he muttered, clenching his fists so he could see how much he should dig his nails into his palms before the sting on his skin became on par with the ache on his chest, "I'm sure Jeonghan would've understood if we didn't make an appearance."
And Jisoo didn't know what hurt more between listening to Seokmin talk about their friend's hard work and sending his father a text that they wouldn't be able to go to the party; the sky had bled black, and the sun had retired already, and in the end, he decided to cut his boyfriend's tirade about Jeonghan and his paintings and his husband to tell him to just turn around which turned to another round of the blame game that lasted for days, only ever stopping at the news of his father's death the following week.
He thought that was it. After the phone call with his mother, Jisoo thought that was the last straw. Leaving their condominium was the first thing that came into his mind, pack his things, go back to his family, and never look back, but his father died, and he couldn't move. The man who raised him was dead and couldn't move at all. The person who taught him algebra was gone, and Seokmin was suddenly holding him tight on his chest, held him until he could no longer cry, held him during the days that followed. Seokmin had become his and his family's rock, took care of the funeral because none of them could, cooked for his mother and lend his shoulder to his sisters.
And when it was just the two of them in the cemetery, the smell of flowers strong in the air, Seokmin had held his hand and apologized for stopping over Jeonghan's gallery.
Jisoo loved him so much, and Seokmin had returned it tenfold; their love for each other did not erase the wounds, but maybe time would. With every fight that transpired between them after the pain of his father's passing had dulled, his boyfriend would make it up to him in sweet kisses and intense lovemaking, bringing him to places he hadn't been to, flying him to countries with the best views of the sunset and the sunrise. And for months, he slept in his lover's arms and woke up still with the same warmth, but he knew it was only temporary. He expected their fights to get worse once they returned back home.
And boy, was he right.
In their eight year of being together, Jisoo felt himself withering away, stomach churning whenever he thought of his relationship with the other man. And with that, he considered filling the void inside his chest with another man, and as he looked at Seokmin, the mirror of his younger self, he couldn't help but be repulsed by his actions. He didn't cheat, but he considered it, allowed someone that wasn't his lover to twirl him around, and laughed at jokes that didn't make sense in his head.
Seokmin had his faults; that much was true. And Jisoo could feel the walls of their apartment closing in on him at the realization that Seokmin had always looked at him and him only. Bile rose from his stomach; the taste of red wine was long since gone and replaced with metallic blood, his chest heaving and his heart crumbling into nothing but dust that clogged his lungs, rendering him breathless. On the countertop in front of him, he could see his boyfriend's cell phone lighting up, showing him his lock screen, of the two of them together on their first trip when they became boyfriends.
Italy, he remembered; Seokmin took him back to the place where their families met and where they first shook hands. Jisoo, for lack of better terms, was close to throwing up as the world around him spun. Sunlight, grapevines, cigarettes and the taste of freshly picked mandarin, moonbeams, sand underneath his feet, hot chocolate and the smell of cotton sheets, warm hands, boyish grin, tall nose, and the promise of youth forever; didn't Seokmin give him everything and anything he could've asked for?
Inside Seokmin's wallet, a Polaroid photo of when he was still nineteen was still present. And what was love if not storing a photograph of your most beloved between expensive leather that you hold dearly? For a moment, Jisoo wondered if he was the reason why their relationship had gone to shit and if he was the one lacking. Because he knew Seokmin loved him, never once did he doubt the other man's feelings for him but there Seokmin was, patiently waiting for him to answer a question none of them had dared mutter for almost a year, a question they avoided altogether when one of them blurted it out in the middle of a heated argument, and the other had not answered at all.
"Jisoo," Seokmin breathed out, pulling him out of trance and thoroughly rendering him unable to speak because, in front of him, a picture of a wrecked man stared back. There were tear tracks on his lover's cheeks, and his usual crimson lips had gone pale; his breathing was rugged like he was having a hard time breathing, eyes blown wide with palpable hurt shining through his irises. A minute had passed, and a small smile bloomed from his mouth. "You can be honest with me. You know that."
Seokmin wasn't begging, but his tone made it seem like he was; desperation dripped from his sentiments, helplessness evident from how he blinked and drank him in. Jisoo knew he could tell the other man he didn't want to continue their relationship anymore. He knew that his boyfriend was aware of the lines he could and couldn't cross and was mindful of when to stop and to let go, but Jisoo, torn and mangled, didn't seem to know the limitations of his love for himself and his lover.
"Yes," he mouthed, repeating the answer in his head over and over again until he was sure he wouldn't choke on a sob when he spoke, wiping his face free of tears before repeating his answer with much more confidence, heart fluttering and butterflies singing. A part of Jisoo knew he shouldn't have said what he said, but even before he could actually think about his following actions, he was already closing the distance between himself and his boyfriend, smiling up at him before kissing his cheek. "Yes, I still love you."
In the aftermath of his failed attempt at infidelity, Jisoo's love for Seokmin had grown tremendously, blinding him entirely. There was a saying that the grass could be greener on the other side but breathing in the familiar scent of his lover's cologne, the smell of the stew he cooked, and the faint lavender from the unlit candles that surrounded them, the grass would always be greener on the side that he would water and nourish with love; he could do it, he thought, be good to Seokmin and take care of their relationship, rid of the guilt and the pain in his chest by being the boy Seokmin fell for in the first place.
"Then why didn't you answer my calls?" Seokmin asked again. And Jisoo couldn't help but shrink a little, swallowing hard as he backed away just slightly. He shouldn't have ignored the calls; he knew that. His boyfriend had given him the freedom to do whatever he wanted, to go wherever he pleased under one condition; to know where and what he would be doing. Seokmin would never say it out loud; how sometimes he would get worried, and wasn't that so endearing? Jisoo couldn't believe he almost threw their relationship away.
"I honestly didn't hear my phone ringing," he answered with a shrug and a smile like he wasn't just losing his mind moments ago, taking his coat off, putting his phone beside Seokmin's, and rolling his sleeves to his elbows. The other man was far from convinced; he could tell. But there were things, as they both learned in their relationship, that were better left unsaid; Seokmin had stopped surveying him under his lashes, and like clockwork, they were both moving around the kitchen with tear-soaked napkins thrown in the bin.
Trifling through the collection of vinyl they had on display, it was easy for Jisoo to tune out the voices inside his head and ignore the gaping hole in the middle of his chest, choosing to dwell on the memories of both him and his boyfriend going to thrift stores in pursuit of finding rare records, of eating ice cream under the sun after every extensive search and then going home to listen to the songs and dance until they were dizzy and their feet were sore. Maybe, he thought, he could ask Seokmin to dance again tonight.
The suffocating silence that filled their apartment was soon chased away by the soothing singing of Cher, the corners of his mouth curling upward into a shy smile as he caught Seokmin's gaze on him, shaking his head in an attempt to get his mind to focus on what he was doing instead of openly ogling his own lover. Varying scented candles perched on ceramic holders were placed all around the kitchen and the dining room, Jisoo's heart hopping slightly when the other man turned the lights off as he lit them one by one, the artificial smell of lavender filling his senses.
It reminded him of summers in his family's vacation home, the sweet taste of honey lingering in his mouth as Seokmin played cards with his father and mother, purposefully losing in his bid to win their affection. Saccharine winds, the scent of wet grass, mildew on leaves and the sounds of magpies, cool lemonade, fluttering sleeves, rhubarb pies, and the songs on the afternoon radio, lingering touches, fleeting stares, secretive smiles and whispered confession; Seokmin did everything for him, it was about time he did the same.
Taking Seokmin's hand and leading him back to the dining room, he tenderly made him sit down and placed another kiss on his cheek, telling him that he'd serve dinner, that all he had to do was wait; Jisoo was rewarded with a squeeze on the hip and a handsome smile, making his heart sore and awakening the carnal part of his being. And as he ladled food on pristine white bowls, he couldn't help but drown under the giddiness of having his lover watch him with a sincere beam, eyes no longer filled with animosity, stance no longer defensive; Jisoo lived for moments like that, listed down the emotions he felt when his boyfriend thanked him, noted how his cheeks burned when the other man slotted his thighs between his under the table.
"You do, too, right?" he couldn't help but ask midway through dinner, the face of the man he danced with in the gala melting into nothing but a blur as he found himself wholly bewitched by Seokmin's relaxed gait and sparkling eyes, "Still love me?"
"What kind of question is that?" Seokmin answered with ease, fixing him a look that had his insides melting and his skin shrinking in on himself. The other man had first confessed he was in love with him, and Jisoo could not help but repeat the other man's question to himself. What kind of question was that? He shouldn't be asking that or questioning his lover's intentions; he could feel his soul leaving his body, recalling just how Seokmin didn't answer him when he last asked him that.
And oh, was it a relief when a hand covered his own; Jisoo didn't think he could take another silence following that damn inquiry.
Of course, Seokmin was in love with him; he could feel it in the way he rubbed circles on his skin, could feel it in the way he caged his legs, could feel it in the way he looked at him. He thought no word was necessary, convincing himself that he was cherished, loved, and treasured in a way that no one would understand.
"Tell me about your day?" Seokmin mused out loud, lacing their fingers together as he raised an eyebrow. And Jisoo was a mess once again, asking himself when was the last time his boyfriend asked him about his day, when was the last time he was genuinely curious; he held no phone, nor did he face any monitors. His attention was solely on him, and Jisoo was on cloud nine.
"It's the same as any other day," he mumbled under his breath, pulse raising when Seokmin's smile dropped slightly. Jisoo was sure he recalled the same memory playing in his mind, and God, all he wanted was to erase that away, assure him that it was okay, that he already forgave him. The bruises inside him, the cuts on his heart, they were going to heal. He wanted to tell him he would be okay. "Do you still want to know?"
"Tell me," Seokmin breathed out. And Jisoo could feel his life flashing right before his eyes, of poems recited in the dark, of kisses under the rain, and of promises made in the middle of fucking, as he watched his boyfriend stand up, still holding his hand and pulling him to his feet; Cher sang, Seokmin swayed their bodies side by side, and he told him about the mundane and tedious tasks he had to do at work.
And by the time he was breathless and so intoxicated with Seokmin's presence, the other man leaned in and kissed him earnestly, coaxing his mouth with his tongue and his heart to open for his honest sentiments.
"I love you," he heard his lover mutter against his lips, and yes, he knew, and yes, he was aware, "Still. Forever."
Okay, he thought, letting his mind store the things they needed to discuss, to talk about in lieu of assuring the other man he felt the same, using his words for only the things that truly mattered. And that was his love for Seokmin.