Donghae sits on the cold hardwood floors, hugging his knees to his chest. He sniffles, and a small voice in the back of his head asks him if he’s too old for this. He’s nearly thirty, but here he is, crying on the floor for the same reason, the same person as he had been crying for his entire life. 

But it’s him, and it’s always going to be him. 

He side-eyes the clock in the kitchen. It’s 2 am. He should be back soon. 

It should disturb him how he knows how their fights go, like clock-work in a well-scripted play. He thinks back to a time when it wasn’t like this, when Hyukjae used to be the one who would scoop him up and put him back together when he fell apart, instead of being the reason he falls apart. They had grown up together, falling out of the womb a few months apart, and Donghae was gone for Hyukjae the moment he saw that gummy smile the neighbor’s son wore. They were best friends, each other’s saviors, and he’d finally told Hyukjae he loved him at graduation in high school. 

Hyukjae’s never been a man of many words, so Donghae should understand. But Donghae’s insecure. He’s always been insecure about Hyukjae because Hyukjae was confident, he was popular, and he seemed to be fine on his own, while Donghae was always co-dependent on him, looking at him for the words to say and standing slightly behind him. It’s not surprising that everytime they fight, Hyukjae is the one who leaves while Donghae waits and waits in the same spot, picking up the pieces on the floor. 

He hears the familiar click of the lock of the front door and he knows Hyukjae’s tired himself out. He’s probably gone out for a drive or walked a few laps around the nearby park. The man enters, slipping off his boots coated with snow and shrugs off his coat, hanging it on the coat rack. 

“You’re back.” Donghae says, chin still nestled on his knees. It was cold out, wasn’t it? Why did you go? 

Hyukjae takes off his scarf and hangs it above his coat. “Yeah.” 

“There’s hot chocolate in the microwave.” Donghae reminds him. He knows how this story turns out. Hyukjae will drink the hot chocolate, he’ll wash the mug while Hyukjae watches him in the kitchen, and he’ll know in the silence that Hyukjae feels apologetic. They’ll tumble into bed, wake up feeling pained, and shove it down until it bubbles up again in a day, a week, a year. 

The last time he called home for the holidays, his brother Donghwa asked him why they haven’t just ended things. “Look, I know you’ve been in love with him for forever, but maybe it’s time to call it quits. He’s proposed, but you guys aren’t married yet, and it’s not too late to find the one.” 

The one, the one. 

Donghae decides that he is ill-fated then. Because no matter what, Hyukjae is the one. And if Hyukjae isn’t the one, he is the best mistake he’s ever had. 

---

“There’s hot chocolate in the microwave.”

Hyukjae looks at his lover, unmoving on the floor and he knows he’s cried in the past hour or two, like he always does. It leaves this sick feeling in his heart. They’ve been played out this story so many times that he knows there’s going to be chocolate waiting for him in the microwave at the end of their fits. That no matter how angry Donghae is, Donghae worries about him being out in the cold, and leaves him a hot drink. 

Since when did it stop bothering him to see Donghae sitting in tears?

Actually, it never stopped bothering him, but he’s grown tired. He hates himself for it. He remembers being in elementary school and chasing all the older neighborhood kids who used to steal Donghae’s toys and make him cry. He remembers skinning his knee retrieving an action figure for Donghae and crying while he brought it back to where Donghae waited at the top of the slide in the park, eventually making Donghae cry even more. He remembers promising Donghae’s brother the day they all helped move Donghae’s stuff into his college dorm that he’s never going to let anyone hurt Donghae again. Ironically, he never promised that he wouldn’t hurt Donghae himself. 

“Are you sure you want to give him that?” Kyuhyun had asked him when he’d shown him the pair of rings he had bought a few years ago. “You know you’re promising him eternity with those rings. And you guys had a good run, but do you want to argue for the rest of eternity with him?” 

Hyukjae remembers how his hand curled into a fist at his side, how he had silently counted to ten as he waited for the tension in his hand to subside and for him to realize that his anger had been misplaced. His friends meant well. They loved Donghae just as much as they loved him, but the two together were simultaneously the best and worst c