Somewhere along the way they lost sight of one another. Jongin’s not sure when exactly they stopped being on the same page. Truthfully, lately he’s been wondering if they were ever reading the same story at all. All signs point to otherwise. 

Jongin doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the last time they were like this; it was the last as well as the first. The parallels are startling, upsetting the long since numbed ache in his chest. They’re currently sat on Taemin’s couch just like that very first night nearly a year ago, their shoulders pressed close without mind for personal space. Taemin has slender legs draped over Jongin’s lap, his back settled comfortably against the arm of the couch, body nestled into the crook of it. Somewhere along the way Jongin’s fingers have made their way up under the hem of Taemin’s sleep pants, gentle absent minded patterns over the smooth skin of his shin. The atmosphere comfortable and familiar as they watched one episode, after another play on the television mounted on the living room wall. 

Jongin isn’t watching anymore though, his eyes hooded in a manner that mimics Taemin’s own. He’s simply gazing, observing Taemin’s existence in such close proximity of his own. Jongin would be bold faced lying if he said he didn’t miss this, or that he didn’t constantly question his own resolve in the months leading up to this very moment, while he tried to move on. It was easier though back when Jongin thought he’d misread the situation altogether. When the harsh jagged sting of rejection was spurring him forwards to let go. That was before, in one emotionally charged conversation, Taemin had destroyed everything Jongin had come to believe. Upturned everything he’d tho