It’s not ideal.

Their relationship has never been perfect. No one’s ever is, right? At least that’s what Jongup hopes. He tries not to spend too much time comparing his life to anyone else’s. It will only leave him feeling disappointed.

“I love you,” Youngjae says quietly as Jongup passes him.

“Love you, too,” he replies, but there isn’t any feeling behind it. It’s just something they say, something that’s expected after being together for so long. After the millions of times they’ve said the words, they’ve become completely meaningless.

Jongup shuffles into the kitchen for a glass of water. He doesn’t ask Youngjae if he wants anything. That’s not how their relationship works anymore. They don’t do thoughtful things like that for each other. They take care of themselves, side by side, and Jongup is… tired.

He’s tired of living like this. He’s tired of stumbling through his life without feeling anything, like an emotionless zombie. He wonders if Youngjae feels the same, but he never asks. He’s afraid of the answer.

{~O~}

It’s autumn when Jongup meets Junhong. The air is chilly, and he’s forgotten his coat at home. He hunches his shoulders against the wind and ducks his head and runs smack into the open door of the taxi that’s parked at the curb. The breath is knocked out of his lungs, and he barely registers the large hands catching him by his elbows to keep him from falling flat on the pavement.

He looks up, shivering as the cool October air cuts through the fabric of his shirt, and finds deep, brown eyes peeking out from under strong, furrowed brows. The eyes study him with concern, the lips attached to the same face moving as though they’re speaking, but Jongup can’t hear a word. All he hears is the rapid beating of his heart and the lack of air moving in his lungs.

“... my goodness, are you okay?” His hearing comes back to him all at once. He gasps. He shudders. He feels like he’s going to collapse, but those hands are still holding him up even though his knees are buckling.

“Cold,” Jongup breathes through chattering teeth.

“Here, let’s get you inside.” There’s a coffee shop, nearly empty. He allows himself to be guided to the door, to a table, to a chair. He sits. He slumps. He falls face first into the table and doesn’t move for several minutes, until there’s a warm mug being pressed into his hand.

Hot chocolate. “I didn’t know what you like, and who doesn’t like hot chocolate?” He laughs nervously. “I’m Junhong.” Junhong is young. He looks young. He acts young. Jongup thinks he’s probably a child, maybe still in high school. “What’s your name?”

Jongup shakes his head. His name doesn’t matter. He’s not making friends with Junhong. He’s not looking for friends. Junhong doesn’t seem to mind.

“Are you feeling better now? Did you get hurt?”

“Fine,” Jongup answers, sounding distant, even to his own ears.

“I feel just terrible about this. I’m so sorry. Are you sure you’re okay?” Junhong is so persistent. If Jongup were in a better mood he might find it cute.

“It’s fine,” he repeats gruffly and wonders when he became so grumpy.

“Oh, okay. I’ll let you be.” Junhong turns to walk away, but halfway to the door he turns back. He slides a business card across the table, and when Jongup looks up, he shrugs his shoulders. “In case you decide, or rather, realise, you’re not okay.”

Jongup needs to get to work. Jongup needs to do the right thing and get rid of that card before he leaves. Jongup slips the card into his wallet behind his ID and sips the hot chocolate until his cup is empty and he’s an hour late for work.

{~O~}

“You’re home late.” Youngjae is on the couch when Jongup enters the apartment, closing the door behind him as he shrugs out of his coat.

“Mmm. Inventory.” He drops his keys on the table by the door and heads straight for the fridge. He hasn’t eaten all day.

“Leftovers in the microwave. Had to eat without you. Early morning tomorrow.” Jongup closes the fridge and checks the microwave. There’s not much leftover. Jongup wonders if Youngjae had even intended to share or if he just happened to have some left. He covers the plate and puts it in the fridge before ordering pizza for himself.

There are files all over the table, and Youngjae has one open in his lap, taking notes on a legal pad balanced on the arm of the couch. “Where’s your plate?” he asks when he glances up.

“Not in the mood for noodles,” Jongup lies, and his stomach feels sour because it’s so easy to bend the truth. It’s not even anything important, but it makes Jongup wonder if it would be so easy to lie about other things.

Youngjae sighs and closes the file on his lap, shuffling it into a stack along with the rest of the folders on the table. “I’m sorry. You were late. I didn’t know when you’d be home.”

“It’s fine.” It’s not. “It doesn’t matter.” It does. “I wanted pizza anyway.” He didn’t.

Jongup doesn’t expect elaborate, home cooked meals every night. He doesn’t even expect Youngjae to be home every night. His job as a paralegal means plenty of late nights at the office, but even when he’s home on time, he spends most of his evenings taking notes and typing up documents. Being home isn’t the same thing as being present.

Jongup used to miss Youngjae when he worked late. He used to hate the silence in the apartment when he was alone. Now he just wishes Youngjae would finish his work at the office. The only thing worse than being alone and lonely is feeling lonely despite not being alone.

{~O~}

Jongup would like to say he hasn’t given Junhong a second thought since the day he was nearly knocked on his by a taxi door, but that would be a lie. Junhong’s business card lives in Jongup’s wallet. It's hidden behind other cards, but that doesn’t mean he never sees it.

At least once a week Jongup finds the card in his hand. He fingers the embossed lettering of the company name and the worn edges of the cardstock until someone or something snaps him out of his thoughts. Then he slips the card back into his wallet and does his best to distract himself from the questions in his mind.

Jongup is with Youngjae, and he’s happy. Okay, he’s not, but they’ve been together so long they’re practically married. They’re only a year apart in age, and Youngjae has a lucrative job. Jongup barely makes enough to get by on his own; Youngjae supports him.

It’s infuriating. Jongup is an adult. He doesn’t need taking care of. He needs… wants a partner, not a substitute parent. He needs someone to share his bed and show him that he’s loved and wanted, that he has worth. He needs someone to make him forget that work is meaningless and his degree is useless and he’ll never make enough money to live on.

Youngjae is nice. He’s a good person. He’s faithful. Jongup never even wonders where Youngjae is when they’re not together. If he isn’t with Jongup, he’s either working or asleep. He’s boring. Jongup wants more.

Youngjae isn't the love of his life. No matter how much Jongup wishes he were, he's not.

{~O~}

The relationship wasn't even that long.

He was only with Yongguk for a few months, but he left a lasting impression and took a piece of Jongup with him when they parted.

Jongup isn't even sure how it happened.

He knows how they met, through mutual friends; Yongguk's dorky high school buddies were pals with all the musical theater nerds Jongup hung out with. He remembers what it was like being with Yongguk, never really spending time together because they were young and their parents still dictated where they spent their time and with whom. They saw each other before school and between classes, and Jongup called Yongguk as soon as he walked in the door when he got home. He recalls sneaking calls late at night as well, whispering into the phone how much they loved each other along with promises of kisses to come.

It was over before it had really begun. One day they were holding hands and sneaking a kiss outside of Jongup’s statistics classroom and the next day they stopped talking completely. He still doesn’t remember why.

Six years later Jongup hears a deep voice on the other side of the aisle where he’s stocking cans of peas and green beans on the shelf. It’s so familiar. He his head to the side as he tries to place it.

“No, no. Now remember, honey, Daddy said no candy today.” The words are low, hushed, a gentle chiding that doesn’t even draw a whine from the child. Jongup remembers hearing something similar before, but it seems like it was a million years ago. No, no. Don’t be sad. Remember, honey, I’ll see you at school in just a few hours.

Yongguk.

Jongup peeks around the end of the aisle to get a glimpse of the man behind the voice. It’s definitely him. His shoulders are broader, his hair not quite as unruly, his jaw a bit more defined, but there’s still the smolder in his eyes and the confidence in his stance. The child is his spitting image, and there’s a white gold band on his left hand.

Jongup is called to the front of the store to man the check out before Yongguk even notices him, but just a few minutes later they're face to face as Jongup scans the handful of items in Yongguk's basket.

“Jongup,” Yongguk reads his name tag and then looks up at his face. “Hey, didn't we go to school together?” Jongup nods, and when he notices his manager watching him, he forces a smile on his face that he hopes passes for genuine. “It's been a long time, man. How’ve you been?”

“Fine, and you?” That's the proper response, right? It's what he's expected to say because I miss you. I still love you. Why did we break up? is out of line.

“Good, I'm good. Well, I mean… I'm going through a messy divorce right now, but things will be better when it's over. We should grab a beer sometime, catch up.”

Jongup bobs his head noncommittally as he counts Yongguk's change.

“Look, here's my card,” Yongguk says as he trades a business card for the handful of coins. “My cell number is on the back. Text me sometime.”

He tells his son to wave goodbye to Jongup as they walk away. Now Jongup has two cards hidden behind his ID.

{~O~}

Work is a minefield, and Jongup must tread carefully. An attractive young man in a business suit with kind eyes and pretty, puffy lips flirts with him, and he has to remind himself that he's taken and even a one night stand would be cheating.

Youngjae is a good person. He doesn't deserve that. Jongup… well, he wonders more and more each day if he even deserves Youngjae.

“Good morning, Jongup. You look lovely today.” The puffy pout turns into a puffy smile that makes tiny wrinkles appear between his cheeks and eyes. “The blonde suits you.” Jongup ducks his head to hide his eyes behind his newly-bleached fringe.

“Thank you, Daehyun,” he mumbles.

Daehyun’s fingers brush his palm as he takes his change. Jongup should be used to it by now. This happens every morning, but today he must be feeling extra sensitive, extra starved for attention and affection and touch, extra needy. He shudders and his knees go weak, and he unintentionally leans over the counter. Puffy lips meet his forehead and he whines.

“See you tomorrow,” he whispers, and before Jongup has the strength to lift his head Daehyun is gone.

When the store is empty, Jongup rests his cheek on the cool countertop and closes his eyes.

“Why don’t you just ask him out? He’d say yes, you know he would.”

“We’ve talked about this, Diane. I’m in a relationship.”

“Not a happy one.”

“Not the point. Go… front the shelves or something.”

Diane waddles away, her long, permed hair always reminding Jongup of an electrocuted poodle. Jongup opens his wallet and lays the business cards out on the counter. He touches them with the tips of his fingers and feels the different textures. The bell rings as the door opens, and he carefully stacks the cards to slip them back into his wallet as he mumbles a greeting at the customer. Junhong, Yongguk, Daehyun… now there are three.

{~O~}

Himchan is a mystery. He shows up at the store late at night when Jongup is working alone with coffee and leftover croissants from his job at the bakery next door. He always smells like sugar and butter.

He borrows the extra stool from behind the counter and lays everything out between them like he owns the place, but he never speaks.

They pick at their food and sip their coffee in comfortable silence. Himchan touches Jongup’s hand before he leaves. His fingers slide across Jongup's knuckles where his palm rests against the counter, and then he's gone without a word.

Jongup wishes Himchan would talk to him. He wishes Himchan would explain why he keeps showing up. He wishes Himchan would confide in him.

Jongup wishes Himchan would stay.

Himchan doesn't have a business card, but sometime around the third week of their ritual he leaves behind a receipt with his number on the back and a note telling Jongup to say hi whenever he feels lonely.

Jongup goes a whole week without a visit from Himchan before he works up the courage to text him. All the message says is hi , but an hour later, in Himchan walks with two cups of coffee and a paper bag in hand. The idea flits through Jongup's mind for a split second to ask Himchan where he's been the past week, but the thought is gone before Jongup can act on it.

Himchan's fingers linger a little longer on Jongup's hand that night and every night after.

The receipt with Himchan's number is folded into a small rectangle and sandwiched between Junhong's card and Daehyun's. Now Jongup has four.

 {~O~}

It’s been months, but Jongup still sees Junhong’s face sometimes when he closes his eyes. He dreams about Junhong, his strong hands and the expression of concern that draws his eyebrows together. It terrifies Jongup because he knows he talks in his sleep. What if Youngjae leans down to kiss him goodbye one morning and Jongup murmurs Junhong’s name? The fragile structure that is their relationship will crumble and from the ruins flowers of distrust will bloom.

{~O~}

“I won't be home.”

Youngjae looks up from his work. Tonight his files are spread out over the kitchen table, and his fingers are perched over the keyboard of his laptop. “Tomorrow?”

“Anymore. I'm moving out.”

Tears well in Youngjae's eyes, and his lower lip trembles. He doesn't ask why, just mumbles, “Okay,” and watches as Jongup gathers the few belongings he has before walking out the door.

His parents only live a few blocks from the apartment Jongup shares… shared with Youngjae. When he knocks on the door, his mother answers almost instantly and ushers him inside.

“Did you eat?” Why do mothers always ask that? Jongup is old enough to find food if he's hungry. He's not hungry anyway. He doesn't think he'll be hungry for awhile.

“I'm fine. Just wanna lay down.”

His mother points to the stairs, like Jongup doesn't know where his room is, like he didn't grow up in this house, and leaves him alone.

He doesn't cry right away. He thought he would. He thinks he should. It should hurt more, leaving someone, but all he feels is numb and empty.

Around midnight, when his parents are asleep and the noise in the house is reduced to the whir of the ceiling fan and the muffled sounds of the television three doors down the hall, Jongup sits at his desk with his collection of cards laid out in front of him. He touches each one, taps his fingers against them like keys on a piano.

He picks one, black with metallic teal ink and the name of some industrial cleaning company at the top. He types the number into his phone and saves it. He sets the phone aside and gathers the cards back into a pile.

He lays in bed and stares at the ceiling for an hour, two… he drifts off.