title: Without eyes
rating: G
pairing: luhan/xiumin
word count: 875
Prompt link: Prompt #8
It's been two years.

❊❊❊

It's been about two years since Minseok had left for the military—nearly one since he returned home. It's also been about two years since Minseok had last talked to Lu Han—and nearly one since he had begun waiting for him again.

It wasn't that Lu Han didn't understand why Minseok had to leave, but rather how he left. They fought, like most lovers did, and after being together for five years it wasn't anything really new, but this time Minseok couldn't spend the extra time to make it up to the other. Lu Han couldn't either. They parted with cold shoulders, and there was no one at the airport to see Minseok off.

Minseok knew they could be stubborn, but that argument had a sense of finality to it—that it may really be the end of them. They had spat such ugly words at each other, and neither had the guts to say sorry. Not now, not after all this time.

What made it worse was that when Minseok came home, he learned that Lu Han had moved out, changed his number, and Kyungsoo had said he went back to China indefinitely. No one knew how to contact him. Lu Han had left in silence—alone—just as Minseok had. Perhaps Minseok reaped what he sowed, because just as he left Lu Han alone upset and angry, Minseok was now alone cold and empty.

He wasn't supposed to leave for home so early. He was supposed to be gone for two years, carrying out his conscription duty. But there had been an accident. A very unfortunate accident. Training gone wrong, a live grenade was accidentally set off—Minseok managed to shove two newer recruits far enough away to take cover, but was a stumble too late for himself.

He escaped with his life, but not with his vision and right leg. The debris had punctured right through his pelvis, and left scrapes and holes in other parts of his limbs. The doctor had assured that with a bit of therapy, he would someday be able to use his right leg properly again—but nothing could fix his eyes.

He would never see again.

Perhaps it was karma—Minseok wasn't sure—but even though they hadn't talked in over year, the only thing Minseok could think of was how he would never get to see Lu Han's smile again. He would never get to see the way his eyes sparkled, or how his jaw practically unhinged when he laughed. He would never be able wake up and see Lu Han sleeping beside him again. He was robbed of that sense, and now, he was robbed of his lover too.

Because Lu Han was gone, and even after months of being back home, he still hadn't heard from him. By now, Minseok was used to navigating around without his vision. He sees what he remembers in his mind, and it helps, even if it's only a little bit.

And now, every morning without fail, Minseok sits and waits. Lu Han and him had come to this park many times in the past. The younger had said it was his favorite place. It was a little further into the park, where the people were more scarce and the silent sounds of nature were louder than the city outside, and it was here that Minseok waited. He became familiar with the bench, practically knew the textures by heart. Here, where he was immersed, he could physically feel the days and seasons changing, even if he couldn't see it.

Leaves crunched under his shoes, and the sweet smell of decay permeated through the air. The autumn breeze was gentle, and paired with the sun, it was far from chilly. It was strange, how in the season where everything was dying, it was now when everything seemed more fresh, smelled alive, and shimmered and bristled with a clarity Minseok could see even without his eyes.

Now with the way he was, Minseok could fully understand why Lu Han adored this place. He could fully understand the things Lu Han could see that he hadn't.

He could fully understand how much he missed Lu Han, and how much it hurt to be without him.

So today, he waited again. 21 months and 15 days of waiting.

21 months and 16 days, he heard footsteps in front of him. They fell softly, as if the leaves and grass where no longer frail and dead, but a soft bed that cushioned every step. It stopped in front of him, and Minseok could vaguely sense the outline of the person's presence, and he looked up accordingly. He waited with bated breath, his heart beginning to race.

He heard the person lean down, hands being placed on the back of the bench on either side of Minseok. The elder closed his eyes, tears gathering on the lashes as lips pressed against his own. He shudders, his breath catching as a hiccup replaces it, and the lips press harder—firmer against his own, reassuring and comforting.

When they finally pull away, Minseok doesn't open his eyes. He doesn't need to.

His smile is shaky and his chin wobbles. Tears are slipping down his cheek, but it's alright. Everything will be right again.

"I missed you."

❊❊❊