Jongdae liked to whistle at work.

He’d whistle as he organized the produce and stocked the shelves, he’d whistle as he swept the floors and greeted customers, and no one seemed bothered by it. 

No one, that is, except Kim Joonmyun.

Jongdae had gotten smiles from other people as he whistled, but Joonmyun only sighed, as if Jongdae’s constant happiness grated on his nerves. So of course, Jongdae kept whistling just to annoy him.

“Do you have to do that?” Joonmyun asked one day, interrupting Jongdae as he closed one of the check out lanes for cleaning. “The whole whistling thing, I mean.”

Jongdae smiled. “You don’t like it?"”

“... It’s annoying.”

“Oh, sorry.” Jongdae shrugged. “But everyone else likes it. Even the manager does, and you know how much of a hard- he can be. So what does that make you?”

Joonmyun sighed.

“A super hard-!”

“Fine then.” Joonmyun turned and walked away. “Forget I said anything.”

A sliver of doubt wormed its way into Jongdae’s stomach at that, but he just shrugged it off and went about his work, still whistling that same happy tune. Though, something about it was a little less happy.

“I think you’re going about this in the wrong way.”

Jongdae looked up from his lunch and surveyed Chanyeol. The taller man was sitting across from him, looking oddly serious, and Jongdae raised an eyebrow in inquiry.

“What?”

“The whole Joonmyun thing.”

“There is no Joonmyun thing,” Jongdae said, stabbing at his food. He’d been trying to eat better lately by trading his normal cuisine for salads and soups, but Chanyeol was eating some huge sub sandwich and the smell of it was making Jongdae’s mouth water. The fact that they’d gone to lunch together at one of Jongdae’s favorite local restaraunts didn’t make it any better.

“Are you sure?” Chanyeol leaned forward, disregarding his sandwich for the moment. “You could always just go and ask him out rather than annoying the out of him. That’s not going to win you any points.”

“I don’t want to talk about this.”

Chanyeol sighed. “Okay, then. What do you want to talk about?”

Jongdae hesitated. “Minseok’s back in town.”

“... What?”

“Minseok. He’s back.”

“Really?”

“I saw him the other day.” Jongdae bit down on his lower lip, hating the way his throat tightened at the memory. “You heard about his parents, right?”

“... What about them?”

“They died.”

“What?”

“Yeah. A few weeks ago, in a car accident. That’s why Minseok’s here again.”

“For the funerals?”

Jongdae shrugged. “I heard rumors that he was here to settle legal affairs and sell his parents’ old house, but I don’t know. When I ran into him the other day, we didn’t get to talk for very long.”

“I see." Chanyeol looked unnerved. That didn’t make any sense. Jongdae was about to ask, but Chanyeol changed the subject before he could. “You know Luhan’s back too, right?”

“Yeah.” Jongdae sighed. “What’s with everyone coming back all of a sudden? I mean, after Luhan’s mom passed away, I didn’t think he’d ever return. He was so devastated.”

“Yeah. I don’t get it either. But Sehun’s happy.”

Jongdae chuckled. “I bet. Has he flirted with him yet?”

“Oh, yeah. You know Luhan is working at that tech shop down the street, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, Sehun purposefully broke a few keys off his laptop keyboard just so he’d have an excuse to go talk to him.”

“Oh my God, he did not.”

“Yeah. I know. It’s super pathetic.”

Jongdae shook his head. “One day I’m just going to lock them in a room until someone finally confesses.”

“Hear, hear.” Chanyeol raised his sandwich in agreement. “Also, Kyungsoo and Jongin. I’m getting tired of their stupidity.”

“Hell to the yes. God, they’re so dense sometimes I want to punch them.”

“Seriously.”

They both fell into silence then, eating and making small comments here and there. Once they were done—their lunch breaks both coming to a close—they paid the bills and gathered their things to leave.

“Jongdae,” Chanyeol said, stopping him as they left the cafe, “Look, I know you and Minseok parted badly before, so ... maybe you should try to fix things?”

Jongdae felt his chest tighten. “I don’t know.”

“What even happenened between you?”

“I don’t know,” Jongdae said again. “That’s the problem. I don’t know what happened. He just ... he just left out of nowhere, without telling anyone—without telling me—and that was it. I honestly didn’t think I’d ever see him again until I ran into him the other day.”

Chanyeol looked pained. “He left without telling you anything?”

“Yeah, I ...” Jongdae frowned, realization clicking together in his head. “Chanyeol, do you know something?”

“What do you mean?”

“About Minseok. About why he left. You look as if you’re not telling me something you should.”

Chanyeol shook his head. “It’s not my secret to tell.”

“Chanyeol—”

“I have to go back to work.” Chanyeol climbed onto his bike. “Make up with Minseok, Jongdae. It’ll be better for the both of you if you do.”

Jongin bit down on his lip, watching as Chanyeol rode away. 

Make up ... huh? 

That was easier said than done. Jongdae had no idea what to make up for. Nothing had happened between them. One day, Minseok had just up and left, and no one had known why. But now he was back. He was back, and he seemed determined to avoid all of his old friends. A few had glimpsed him here and there, but that was all it had been—glimpses, as if Minseok was just a ghost.

A ghost of himself, perhaps.

Jongdae walked back to the grocery store with his head down, deep in thought. He spent the rest of his shift in silence, unaware of everything around him as he restocked shelves and swept the floors and cleaned out the bathrooms. He didn’t whistle, didn’t greet customers cheerily, didn’t bother trying to annoy Joonmyun.

All he could think about now was Minseok.

“Jongdae?”

Jongdae looked up from finishing his daily inventory counting to see Joonmyun there, staring down at him. He looked worried. “Yes?” Jongdae asked.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

Joonmyun didn’t look convinced. “Ever since you came back from your lunch break, you’ve been really quiet. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Jongdae nodded, resisting the urge to snap. Joonmyun was just worried. Jongdae had no eight to get frustrated with him. “I’m fine,” he said again, “Promise. I’m just tired.”

Joonmyun frowned. “If you say so ...” He trailed off, waiting to see if Jongdae would add anything to that. When he didn’t, Joonmyun sighed, shrugged, and turned to go.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Jongdae.”

“Yeah.”

After he left, silence reigned. Jongdae made sure he’d done all he needed and then clocked out, ready to go home and sleep. He really was tired. So tired. He felt as if talking with Chanyeol earlier had drained him, as if talking to people as happy and energetic as Chanyeol drained him, and it didn’t help that Minseok had been mentioned more than once.

Jongdae had been worrying about Minseok ever since he’d seen him a few days before. 

And, just as he’d told Chanyeol, he really had no idea what had happened between the two of them. They’d been the best of friends. They’d shared math notes and boxed lunches. Candy and jokes. Long days at the beach and lazy summers. Minseok had stayed at his house so often that his parents had joked about adopting him. Jongdae still wished they’d done it, because the night Minseok had disappeared was the first night in months he hadn’t stayed over at Jongdae’s.

Now that I think about it, Jongdae mused, I never went over to Minseok’s house ...

“Minseok!”

Jongdae’s head jerked up so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. Minseok? And sure enough, there the older man was, standing on the other side of the street. He was talking to someone Jongdae didn’t know and he looked ... happy.

Something inside Jongdae sank a few inches.

The guy Minseok was talking to was tall. Not as tall as Chanyeol, but definitely taller than Minseok. He had dark brown hair combed into a sweeping fringe. His eyes twinkled as he spoke and, even from there, Jongdae could tell that his Korean was a little stunted. A foreigner, then. He seemed to be recounting something exciting, for he was waving his arms about and talking very fast. Minseok was smiling, laughing every time the guy opposite him gestured grandly, and Jongdae averted his gaze as if he’d been blinded.

He didn’t want to see that.  He didn’t want a reminder of all he and Minseok had been.

Of all they’d lost.

Wishing he was somewhere else in that moment, anywhere else, Jongdae turned and headed back to his apartment. His chest was tight, his vision blurring, and he had to fight to keep himself under control.

What did I do wrong?

“So, there are no hard feelings about that whole thing before?”

Minseok smiled. “No, there aren’t.”

Yixing looked worried. “Promise?”

“I promise. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Okay.” Yixing smiled. “You should come over to my house again sometime for tea, then. And we can talk about other things. Like your favorite color, or your favorite food, and so on and so forth.”

Minseok chuckled. “That sounds nice.” A flicker of movement behind Yixing caught his eye and he glanced toward it, his eyes widening a bit as he saw Jongdae turning and walking in the other direction. His stomach twisted into knots. Jongdae.

“Minseok?” Yixing waved a hand in front of his face. “You okay?”

“Uh, yeah. Sorry. I just ... I should be getting home. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Oh. Okay ...”

Minseok left with a quick wave, walking off in the opposite direction as Jongdae. He didn’t feel okay anymore. All the memories he’d made with Jongdae, all the good times they’d had, came rushing back to him all at once along with an emotion he’d been trying to ignore since he’d left all those years ago.

Guilt.

It wasn’t Jongdae’s fault, and he knew that. It was Minseok’s own fault for never saying anything. That was why he hesitated to say anything now. He was afraid of the consequences, of what would happen if the truth got out. His friends would shun him, he knew they would. They would see his flaws and his weaknesses.

They would realize how worthless he was.

In the end, it was easier for Minseok to just shun them.

a/n: so the one I thought I'd update last is the one I updated first /sigh.
Forgive my abscence. School is devouring my soul.