Their union comes not from love, but from loneliness.

Zitao had come from a string of relationships that had started smoothly but self-destructed; loudly, softly, sadly. He loves them all a little, still.

Jongdae’s story isn’t quite the same as Zitao’s - there was only one, but he’s long gone now. He’d left Jongdae behind, his fingers now entwined with those of a man who Jongdae isn’t, but desperately wishes to be.

Their circumstances are different, but their senses of loss and despair are much the same.

It’s this loneliness that finds them both at the same dump of a bar, the loud voices and heavy smoke of cigarettes heavy in the air; all advertised outside by a cheap, partially-lit neon sign.

It’s this loneliness that has Jongdae seated at the bar, sipping at cheap bourbon and whiskey, letting the spirits burn slowly as they pass over his tongue and down his throat.

It’s this loneliness that draws Zitao inside, setting himself down just a few seats away from Jongdae as he signals the bartender over for a drink of his own.
 

And it’s this very same loneliness that has Zitao lean over to Jongdae to exchange a few short words before they both rise from their stools and move towards the door; that has Jongdae loop his thumbs through the belt loops of Zitao’s designer jeans and tug him close; that lets him push the taller man down onto his bed as they press their lips together in a desperate plea for attention, for affection, for the sake of feeling that somebody loves them back.

Jongdae allows Zitao’s warm arms to stay wrapped around his body the next morning, lets Zitao gently press his lips to the back of his neck; just as Zitao avails himself the chance to nuzzle the smaller man in a show of affection.

Neither of them are done pretending quite yet.

Their relationship is nothing they ever discuss or negotiate, but something that falls into place on its own. It’s almost a stretch of the tongue to call them “together,” but somehow, that’s what they are. They never go out, but nearly every night they find themselves wound together on the couch without fail; an old, B-list movie playing out of the speakers from Jongdae’s crappy television set and filling in the silence; untouched by all but a few murmured words between them. Zitao speaks Korean about as well as Jongdae speaks Chinese, and neither of them are particularly interested in pursuing a conversation they can only barely understand.

The silence, on the other hand, is perfectly clear to them both.

A day comes where Zitao tells Jongdae of what he’d had, the words spilling from his tongue in stammered, broken Korean. Baekhyun, who’d left with hateful words and the band of a shutting door; Yifan, who had tiptoed out of the apartment and locked the door behind him with Zitao asleep in their bed and none the wiser; and Sehun, with whom things had grown colder and colder until the ice had finally shattered and he’d left Zitao behind with only the icy splinters of what they’d had.

Jongdae tells Zitao of his own scars in return; and Zitao thinks to himself that even though it was only one man instead of three, Jongdae’s story is infinitely more tragic because even now, Jongdae still can’t bring himself to choke out the name of the man who stopped loving him back.

It’s mutually understood between the two of them that each uses the other as a crutch just to keep standing and continue on. Sometimes, independently, they wonder if what they have is really for the best - but then Jongdae drops his head on Zitao’s shoulder or Zitao kisses Jongdae softly on the lips and they decide that really, anything is better than being alone.

It’s not quite love, but it’s enough.