~ Music ~

Jinki expects cold coffee and cold eyes from his boyfriend of three years, but he gets nothing—nada, zilch. And then he knows Minho’s upset. Okay so maybe he has good reason to be, maybe he’s upset at the fact that Jinki didn’t want to tell him about losing that one acting gig or that other one. Maybe he’s upset because Jinki doesn’t want to talk to him about his depression or insomnia. Or maybe, juuust maybe, he’s upset because Jinki doesn’t honestly talk to him. Those long talks that rip at the heart and distract the mind like TV static late at night; talks like those build relationships.

And Minho

He just wants to talk.

But Jinki on the other hand isn’t good at talking or better yet—he doesn’t know how. He can listen to Minho talk about soccer and the game he played last week at Jonghyun’s place. He can listen. But he can’t talk.

Words

Words are like the bruise on his arm, he tries not to look at it, but he knows it’s there. He tries not to feel the pain, but it’s still there. And words…they’ll always be there, hanging between he and Minho like a wall. “Just talk to me,” is what Minho said to him last night after they made love, his voice hoarse and his fingers teasing Jinki’s brown hair. “Jinki…”

Last night they talked with their bodies and Jinki thought that was enough, but Minho wanted more. “I don’t know what you’re thinking and sometimes…I feel…as though I don’t know who you are.” Is what Minho had told him, but Jinki couldn’t even say what was on his mind: “Don’t think that.” He wanted to tell Minho.

And then morning came.

It replaced the night like Minho’s voice replaced Jinki’s fears. Easy, simple…warm. “Goodmorning.” He says to Minho whose broad back is facing him, he can’t see his face but he can read his mood by the simple way in which Minho’s shoulders rise before sinking slowly back down. “…”

“You’re mad at me aren’t you?” Jinki questions, his eyes round with worry. He honestly didn’t know what he would do if Minho were to ever leave him. “I just…whenever I say something…” he sighs. “My words…” he runs a hand through his messy bed hair. “Minho.” He calls his name in a weak voice and Minho closes the fridge to look back at him. “Jinki…”

“Yes?” and he doesn’t need words to know that Minho isn’t upset, but he’s hurting. How did their relationship survive three years? Jinki wondered this, but Minho knew. “It’s because I love you that I talk to you.” He says, the still morning silence sticking to his words and dragging them out. “I talk to you not because I have to or because the silence is sometimes deafening…” his full lips pull into a frown. “I love you, Jinki,” he sighs, his big, dark eyes shaking. “That’s why I talk to you.” He swallows, a hand coming up to rest against his forehead. Jinki—like always—doesn’t know what to say. But he has to say something, if he doesn’t want this to be the end.

He has to

Speak.

“Minho…”

“What?” his voice comes out exhausted and Jinki’s heart twists. “You…you were always the one who spoke first…”

“Oh? I see you here often, do you like American 80’s films too?”

“Your voice struck me so beautifully and I was never good at talking…so I just listened to you…” the fridge hums in the quiet kitchen and Minho inches towards Jinki who sat at the other end of the table. “For three years…I listened….even though you told me to talk.”

“You’re hurting? Aren’t you? Jinki just tell me what it is.”

“But I was afraid that if I told you about my pain…” Jinki bites his bottom lip. “You wouldn’t talk to me anymore.”

“Jinki, why would yo—“

“I may appear older than you Minho, but to myself…I still feel like a child.” Jinki runs a hand down his face and chuckles bitterly. “I try to censor out all the bad things that have happened in my life because I feel as though I would taint your pure voice.” Minho’s eyes widen. “But somehow…I still end up hurting you.” Jinki’s voice cracks and he his lips. “I always…hurt you…”

It’s silent and the clock above the kitchen sink keeps ticking.

One minute

Two

Three—Jinki rises up from his seat, his chair scraping along the kitchen floor.

Four

Five minutes and they’re still standing in the kitchen; Jinki’s looking at the ground while Minho is looking at him. “No…” he murmurs and Jinki looks up. “No, Jinki, no.” he repeats shaking his head, he steps towards Jinki and grips his shoulders. “I may have spoken to you first, but you were the first to speak to my heart when you said…”

“You enjoy soccer right? That’s all that matters and you know what else matters? The fact that I love you.”

“You’ve never hurt me, you’ve just never told me what was on your mind.” Jinki shrinks in Minho’s grip. “That’s all—I just want you to be able to talk me—no censoring….just your words.”

Minho smiles and in that moment everything seemed so childish.

All this time wasted when I could have been sharing my downfalls, my heartaches and my decisions with you and healing.

Wasted.

Because I didn’t speak out of a childish fear.

Jinki gradually wraps his arms around Minho’s back, he rests his head against Minho’s shoulder and holds onto him tightly.

They may not need to speak right now

But surely along the way; their words will be like the blankets they use to cover up and keep themselves warm.

* * * * 

It’s a quiet Monday night and Minho is snoring loudly after having come back from a late soccer game. He’s wrapped himself tightly in a white blanket like he always does and Jinki stands in the bedroom doorway with a soft smile. “Hah, cutie.” He hums pushing himself off of the doorframe and stepping towards Minho. “Ah, but how does he expect me to sleep when he’s snoring like a motor?” Jinki grumbles tugging at the blankets as he dips a knee into the side of the bed. Minho retaliates by tugging back and Jinki realizes that he isn’t really asleep.

He snorts and knocks Minho in the lower part of his back. Minho flinches and his eyes snap open and he looks to Jinki with that cute-sunshine-cotton-candy-smile of his and Jinki’s heart becomes a puddle. “I’ll only give you the blanket if you want to share it with me.” Minho suggests and Jinki knew what that meant; Minho wanted to cuddle. “Fine, I’m too tired to argue.” Minho laughs that high-pitched laugh of his and untangles himself from the blankets.

Jinki slips in beside him wrapping his hand around Minho’s stomach and pulling him close.

His heartbeat

His warmth

His presence…

“Hey..Minho…”

“Hmm?” Minho hums in response, his eyes already closing as he felt Jinki’s chest heave against his back. “I think…I’m ready to talk to you now…to tell you about all the things I’ve kept locked away.”

“Mm,”

“Are you listening?” Jinki questions in a whisper, at first Minho doesn’t respond and then he’s turning in the bed to face Jinki—their noses touching. He smiles warmly, his big eyes crinkling at the corners. He places a hand to Jinki’s face and replies softly. “Always.”