Texting Minghao or calling Minghao.

         Texting Minghao or calling Minghao?

         Texting Minghao or calling Minghao. 

         Well, he has the third option to just never call or text and just pretend like yesterday didn’t happen, but there’s no way he can do that. It takes Mingyu almost an entire hour to get home and straighten up an already tidy place. It’s not showroom-organized. It’s a cozy place that looks lived in, but it’s clean and each and every surface is free of dust and grime. So, you can infer that cleaning up nothing shouldn’t have taken him an hour. Most of that time was spent unlocking his phone, looking at Minghao’s contact information, and locking his phone again.

         He’s 85% nerves by the time it’s 4:30.

         But, nevertheless, Mingyu it up and hits ‘call’. And it rings. Each trill fills his silent flat for five seconds at a time until he realizes that no one is picking up and it goes straight to an automated voice messaging system.

         “Hey, um, it’s Minghao Xu. I can’t get to the phone right now. Just, uh, text or leave a message or something and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Thank-” There’s a rustling in the recording, like someone’s blowing into the microphone or that the phone is dropped, “Oh my god, put your pants back on and give me back- what are you-” and it cuts off then beeps, waiting for Mingyu’s message.

         He just hangs up.

         Mingyu can’t help but laugh. He thought his voicemail recording was embarrassing and awkward, but Minghao’s got him beat. He’s really curious about the situation in the background and will be sure to pry about it if he has the chance. Regardless, he didn’t get his message across, so he unlocks his phone again to send a text. His fingers are sweaty and leave prints on his screen as he swipes over the glass.

         ‘Hey, it’s Mingyu. I got your number from Wonwoo. If you’re free today, the address is 520 Lexington Street, Appt 2N. It’s on the first floor, so don’t worry about stairs. Let me know if we’re meeting up.’ Texting was a lot easier than calling anyway. He didn’t have to worry about repeating the address over the phone a million times and he didn’t have to worry about stuttering or sounding like a fool. Hitting send was easier than finding a closing to a conversation, but now he has to wait for Minghao’s response; if Minghao will respond.

         At least he does that much, ‘Sorry. I was in a meeting.’ And the ellipses wave at the bottom of the screen, ‘What do you want to eat?’.

         Mingyu tries to flatten the grin that sneaks up on his lips. Minghao can’t even plainly type that he’s complied to their agreement of therapy and dinner. ‘Anything’s fine. Surprise me.’

         ‘Okay’ A very simple response, but the dots appear again after a few seconds, ‘What time do you want to eat?’

         He looks up at the digital clock that’s been counting silently above his TV and small entertainment center, ‘6-ish?’

         ‘Any allergies?’

         Aw, he does have common sense, ‘Nope :)’

         ‘K. I’ll be over around 6 then.’ And it falls silent. Mingyu leaves him on read and wonders if he should go and take a shower. He doesn’t smell bad, quite the opposite and his hair looks rather nice today even though he didn’t go through the trouble of styling it. Wonwoo’s claim earlier that afternoon still rubs him the wrong way just because Jeonghan was there to say something about it. Mingyu used to only fuss over his hair on Mondays and Wednesdays when a majority of his patients were elderly women.

         He liked their compliments and their fawning over how handsome he was (and the idea that they’d like to set him up with their grandchildren), but since Minghao had started coming into the clinic, he stopped caring and usually wore it down until Thursdays where he would rush to toss it together in a messy do. It looked disheveled and casual, almost not work appropriate and almost too club appropriate. Joshua hadn’t said anything about it at the time, but when Jeonghan asked why his hair was down, Wonwoo answered for him saying that he only wore it up on Thursdays because of ‘a special patient’. Jeonghan could only pry until his first appointment reigned him into the PT room, but that was long enough for Mingyu to get antsy.

         He decides to shower anyway. It’ll kill some time.

         After showering, it’s barely close to 6, so he wipes down the entire kitchen (twice) and puts some water on the stove to make tea.

         As if arranged by cosmic forces, just as the kettle screams at him, making Mingyu jolt and drop his mug (yes, he was spacing out) and having the handle snap off on the counter, there’s a rapping at his door. With clumsy limbs, he tosses the pieces of ceramic into the sink and switches off the stove before pattering over to the door. He takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes just for a minute. He’s not sure why he’s so nervous. They’ve had four PT sessions already, well, maybe it’s because three out of four of those sessions ended in negative tension, but the point is that it’s not like this is the first time he’s seeing Minghao after a decade. He already crossed that bridge a month ago. He already broke up a fight between him and one of his closest friends. Meeting him again should be no big deal. Right? Right.

         Minghao, for lack of better words, looks nice.

         He’s got a red hoodie under a black leather jacket. His hair is topped with a loose beanie and the Ray-Ban glasses he has on makes him appear cuter than he should. At least he’s wearing his knee brace over his jeans. That’s a step towards recovery, “Oh, hey.”

         “Hi.” Minghao just stands in the doorway before he wiggles the box of pizza that he’s balancing in his hands. Celestia’s! That’s a great choice. Mingyu remembers going there for lunch quite often in high school. Their pizza was the best and their staff was even better; often slipping Mingyu an extra-large slice.

         “Sorry- Come in.” Mingyu steps aside to let Minghao through. He hands over the pizza, still shouldering his bag, and takes his shoes off before walking into the living room. He’s glad that habit carries over between different Asian cultures, “Did you just come from the studio?”

         “Huh? Yeah.” Minghao just stands around awkwardly. He probably noticed that there’s not a thing out of place and doesn’t know where to set his stuff down or if he’s allowed to sit, but Mingyu’s really not that uptight about people moving his things or entering his spaces; he just likes cleaning in his free time.

         “You can put your stuff down wherever. How’s your knee doing?”

         Minghao finally comes over to Mingyu in the kitchen and sets his bag down over on the tile by the foot of the island instead of on the carpet. He takes a seat on one of the two stools there, “It’s okay.” He seems anxious, “Soonyoung spoke with our boss about the terms to this whole,” he moves his hands in the air, wiggling his fingers, “thing.” How vague. “He agreed, so I spent the last,” he flicks his wrist free of the oversized jacket sleeve, looking at his watch, “two hours bargaining with him about teaching.”

         “And how did that go?” Mingyu sets the box in the oven where it can preserve its warmth until they decide to eat. He’s glad that the conversation seems casual so far. Maybe Minghao just didn’t like clinics. That idea never crossed his mind before now.

         “Okay, I guess.” He tugs his sleeves back over his knuckles, “I’m allowed to keep the classes I’m teaching, but I have to find someone else to demo. I can still yell at them, but there’s no dancing on my end.”

         “That’s probably for the better.” Minghao just nods in response, “What was with your voicemail?”

         Mingyu grabs his red pepper grinder form the cabinet. None of that pre-packaged stuff in this household, “Oh, that.” He’s not sure because he only passes Minghao a glance, but it seems like he looks a little embarrassed, “Jun was spending the night at my place after an entire day of bar hopping. He smashed my phone earlier that day so I had to get a new one and record a new voice message.”

         "But the pants?”

         Minghao nods, cracking a wry smile, “Jun’s pretty wild when he’s drunk.” He looks at his phone to fill a gap in conversation, "I should record a new one, but I feel bad getting rid of a memory like that.”

         That’s a little endearing.

         “So are you hungry? Do you want to eat or do you want to exercise first?”

         “I’m fine with whatever. You said you wanted to eat at six, so I assumed you’d be hungry.”

         Mingyu wasn’t that hungry, or if he was, he isn’t now, but the two decide to eat first. Mingyu pours them the tea and even though green tea and pizza is a weird combination, Minghao doesn’t complain or ask for a different drink when prompted. It’s a comfortable silence—Mingyu decides to throw it into that category—not an awkward one. Sitting up on the stools with Minghao feels a little odd since he usually eats on the couch, but it’s okay since he doesn’t want to bother him to get down and move. He wants to giggle every time Minghao picks up his teacup and blows on the hot tea, steaming up the lenses of his glasses, but he refrains. There’s little chatter about going to Celestia’s during their time at Oakdale, but it turns out that Minghao had never been. He says he’s had better pizza in the city, but who hasn’t had a better food experience in the city. Still, he makes sure to wrap up his comment by saying that Celestia’s is the best in town and puts Pizza Hut and Round Table’s to shame.

         Mingyu reaches for a third slice and takes a bite just as Minghao decides that he’s full after two and sets down his paper plate. The fact that he asked the place for paper plates is probably a habit formed from college and not ever wanting to do dishes unless absolutely necessary. Mingyu won’t complain. He doesn’t want to do dishes either.

         Without his mouth full of hot ‘za, there’s little left for Minghao to do other than talk.