Minghao curled his legs more tightly to his chest when the covers above him shifted, cool fabric grazing across his skin and stirring him from his sleep. He squeezed his dry eyes tightly as the mattress sprang up when Junhui got up from beside him, the center of gravity on the mattress now falling on Minghao. Minghao peeked at the clock, which just then started buzzing at 10:13 am, Junhui's strangely set wake-up time on weekends, though he always rose just before the alarm started ringing. Minghao let him shut off the alarm and whisper a "sorry" to his ear, as he routinely did as he scavenged the carpet for his clothes, his thick coat rustling when he finally got it on.

 

"I'll be back," he announced as he left the bedroom, expecting Minghao to rest a little longer.

 

But when his heart was tugging at his chest like so, thin heartstrings pulling mightily, there was no way Minghao could sleep so restfully. As much as he could tell himself to forget about the past, that the present was before his very eyes, he couldn't help but look back. He could tell himself that there was nothing to worry about, that Junhui was by his side at this moment, and that was what played the largest role in their future, but worries tended to have a foolproof formula that would allow them to find their way into the heart and the mind. The thoughts occupying Minghao's mind were so heavy that his will to change did not want to so much as appear. He didn't want to force onto Junhui more than what he already had with him, what relationship they had which presented itself on thin ice, so thinly pressed that it could be considered non-existent. But what relationship was one that was merely for and company?

 

Minghao heard the front door slam shut, and his eyes followed suit. He heard footsteps nearing and tried to match his breathing to its rhythm, slowing down his heart rate and his mind in motion. While Junhui was a large source of his anxiety, he was also a remedy. His poison and his medicine, except he had not yet been able to master how much to take to find himself at balance. With Junhui, maybe there was no balance. He was standing on the tip of a needle and Minghao was the one keeping him up, supporting him when he needed it, letting go when he could handle things alone. Maybe Minghao was the key to keeping the two of them together, but Minghao was in shambles, his feelings for Junhui exceeding the capacity that he could handle on his own, bursting and spilling from cracks that came with wear, Junhui having no interest in cleaning any of it up. Minghao’s feelings were his own responsibility, after all.

 

Junhui entered the bedroom and headed straight for the dresser, not heeding the "sleeping" Minghao any mind. He opened the top drawer and tossed in a letter, as he did every week without fail. Saturdays were always the day to anticipate another letter, though Minghao pretended to never notice. A pile of them were stacked beside Junhui’s T-shirts, none opened but none quite ignored. Junhui may have lost count of how many there were, but maybe he knew. Minghao certainly did. Today was the 31st to be delivered.

 

Minghao knew they were letters from Junhui’s ex, Jisoo, but neither of them knew the contents. Minghao knew that Junhui was doing his best to forget what happened between them, and Minghao was doing his best to help. But when the volume of letters kept increasing, each holding a mystery neither dared to discover, Minghao imagined that one day they may reach the top and start spilling out of the dresser, much like his own feelings being unable to stay contained. Though Junhui assured him that he had no intentions of getting back with "that manipulative bastard", he and Minghao both knew that he was shaken more and more with each unopened letter. Minghao considered it once, to take them all and chuck them into the fireplace to rid the lingering regrets they contained as they went up in smoke. He considered it, but that would have meant the end of them , of Minghao and Junhui, and that was a greater source of fear than Junhui potentially having feelings for his ex again. Potentially, as opposed to the sure-fire end that would come with burning the letters. It was a risk, to allow the enemy’s possession to reside in their home, their space, to allow for Junhui’s attention to be divided between the warm-bodied Minghao in front of him and the lifeless envelopes in his dresser. It was a risk, but at this point, what wasn’t?

 

"Minghao," Junhui called in a soft, low voice. It sounded calm, but Minghao knew he was anxious. This happened every time he got a new letter and every time he was given a reason to be shaken up again. Minghao disliked that there were ways for him to tell that Junhui wasn’t completely his, but in return, when these moments happened, Minghao was able to open his arms wide to let Junhui know that it wasn't Jisoo, but Minghao by his side now.

 

Junhui shed himself of his coat, crawling up the bed where Minghao was and pressed his trembling, cold lips against Minghao's, moving them sporadically and impatiently. He kissed Minghao's neck briefly before pulling back, gazing with desperate eyes before attacking him with a deeper kiss as he searched with his hands for Minghao’s most sensitive surfaces. Minghao wasn't the biggest fan of in the morning, but it was Junhui's way of coping, and Minghao would be a fool to deny it. He was well aware that maybe this was him taking advantage of Junhui's weakness, but when it was the only thread he could hold onto, there was no way he was letting it go.

 

~~

 

The house was empty, too much so for one person to handle. Junhui had left earlier, but instead of uttering his usual “I’ll be back, soon,” he left without a word. While the “soon” was not always there, depending on where Junhui planned to go, the “back” always was, and when both were absent, it was more than unsettling. When Junhui's voice was not a peep to be heard as the door creaked shut, an unpleasant tone started ringing in Minghao’s ear. It was the first decisive sign that Junhui was living in the past more than in the present, and it was at that point Minghao should have done something about it. But how? What was a backup lover, a friend who never heard even the slightest murmurs of affection directed at him, what was he to do to prevent Junhui whose heart was unwilling to let anyone else in from giving in to his desires? From giving into Jisoo? If Junhui truly wanted Jisoo, despite what they had been through in the past to make Junhui call him a manipulative bastard , how could Minghao even think to stop him? Firstly, it was a matter of importance, of priority, but Minghao was as indecisive as he was scared. Did he treasure Junhui’s happiness or his own? Did it really have to be one or the other? Was there an ending that could lead to both their happiness?

 

The second sign was the phone call. More specifically, the voicemail. The voice that projected from the voicemail machine was breathy and uncertain. The caller didn’t identify himself, nor did he call anyone’s name, but it was obvious who he and his intended recipient were. The message was short, but not exactly concise. The caller didn’t know what he was looking for, or so he claimed, but Minghao knew. The letters never worked, after all this time, so Jisoo changed his method to let Junhui know that he wanted his attention. Minghao lay on his side, the sleeves of Junhui’s sweater too big and loose on him to make Minghao feel secure. He let the machine run on auto-play, listening to Jisoo’s voice over and over again, drilling the words into his head. Maybe he was training himself with Jisoo’s words in hopes that if he mimicked them, Junhui would look at him once, at the very least, in the same way that he looked at Jisoo. An expression Minghao never got to see, and perhaps never will. Maybe he was listening to it in order to find out what kind of person Jisoo was, in that short message, what kind of person he really was, though he would certainly view him with a negative bias. Regardless, he listened to it until the sound of Jisoo’s voice became analogous to silence and he would be unable to differentiate between the two.

 

The message started out with a simple greeting.

 

“Hey… how are you?”

 

And then there were signs of thinking.

 

“Hmm…”

 

Maybe it was the point in which Jisoo considered hanging up, but he didn’t. That was what made him manipulative. That he thought about it, probably, against it, somewhat likely, but continued anyways.

 

“I don’t know why I called you, but…”

 

There was no way he didn’t know. There was absolutely no way Jisoo didn’t know why he was calling.

 

“Will we see each other again?”

 

Please don’t.

 

“No, nevermind. Bye.”

 

~~

 

Minghao knew how resolute Junhui was to not caving in to reading Jisoo’s letters. He had the determination to not peek, but not the determination to discard them. Junhui’s resolve was there, but as weak as what Minghao wanted to be a relationship between the two of them. Junhui was tip-toeing on the fence, leaning heavily towards the other side, to Jisoo’s side, and if Minghao hadn’t constantly been tugging a belt loop of his jeans towards his own side, he would have fallen long ago. But the belt loop came loose, and Minghao was holding onto that thread, and one sharp movement from Junhui and all his efforts would be for naught. One sharp move of Junhui turning his head to heed Jisoo’s voice over the voicemail, and the thread snapped, Junhui crash-landing on the greener side and Minghao left with a frayed thread.

 

The final sign was no longer a warning, but a statement that said Junhui was already past the point of no return. It was the letters, all 31 of them, scattered across the table in no particular order, every single one of them opened. It was too late for regrets, for Minghao to wish to turn back the time to burn all the letters so what was happening in the present time was impossible. To wish that there was no such accumulation of feelings that was not delivered until that moment. All it took was one final push in the form of a voicemail for the delivery to finally be complete, and for Junhui to run without looking back.

 

And that was the moment, as Minghao picked a letter up to look at its appearance rather than read the contents, that Minghao knew that he lost Junhui for good.